Is There Forever?
by NoviceFanFic
Summary: First Fan Fic - please be gentle - SPOILER ALERT - Amell/Cullen after the blight - I see everyone putting in disclaimers, so I too make no claim to Dragon Age
1. Subtle Returns

Cullen was bored. Not just bored, exceptionally bored. It seemed like ages since Uldred had been destroyed and the circle was being rebuilt. Greagior had assigned him to guard a long dark hallway where nothing changed...ever...he sighed.

He heard shouts from the stairwell. He could not quite make out what they were saying but something crashed...and was that a bark? He walked towards the stairs when she came around the corner. Isa? He thought to himself. She didn't see him, which became quite apparent. While tossing obscenities over her shoulder, she walked face first into his chest and fell back on the stone floor. She reached up and touched her nose which was starting to bleed. She looked at the blood on her fingers then looked up at him. Her eyes became daggers.

"AND YOU!" she shouted getting to her feet and standing on her toes to try to stare him in the eyes. He could see and feel the static electricity dancing on the ends of her braided hair framing her face – and fairly certain he could smell alcohol. "You and your stupid armor and your stupid face and your stupid eyes! If it hadn't been for you I wouldn't have trusted HIM with...EVERYTHING!" Her arms flailed above her head in frustration. He bit the inside of his lip to keep from grinning at her. He'd never seen her quite like this and somehow he found it amusing. He thought for a moment he felt the veil thinning, she was about to cast at him. He readied himself with the counter if needed, as he'd done so many times before, she saw it too. "YOU...YOU....JERK!!" and with that she kicked him as hard as she could in the shin...his plate mail shin. He heard a crack and was fairly sure that was a toe breaking as she crumpled to the floor again.

She sat against the wall, two hands on the injured foot. She looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes, and utter sadness in her face. "Oh Cullen..." she trailed off and laid her forehead against the knee of the injured foot she was holding. "....I hate you..." She began sobbing.

He moved an arm to reach for her as another body stumbled through the entrance to the stairwell. A nimble, blonde elf caught himself before he fell. He reeked of alcohol too. "Ah Bella" he said, with a strong Antivan accent. "I've been looking all over for you...though to be fair the trail of fits, smashing things, and...well...obscenities is fairly easy to follow around this big tower."

"Zev..." she mumbled almost incoherently "Zev...take me to bed..." With that the elf reached down and helped her to her feet. He put her arm over his shoulder and helped her limp a short distance down the hall to a room.

"I thought you'd never ask" he said teasingly. A mabari trailed on behind them into the room.

Cullen let out a sigh and relaxed the tension in his back. Shortly screams and things breaking echoed from the room. The door cracked open and the mabari skittered out, nails ticking on the stone to get traction frantically. The elf poked his head out..."Um...you there, ser Templar, can you ask Wynne when she comes up to check on us, as I know she is going to do, to send up hot water for a bath in the morning, and some clean clothes....and no matter what terrible, horrid, or fantastic noises come from this room...do not open the door." At that moment a vase shattered on the door frame near his head and he flinched slightly. "...this may be a long night..." and like that, he was gone again, a sly little grin on his face.

Cullen stared down at the Mabari who was settling in at his feet, keeping watch. "Well at least it won't be boring anymore." He says, and thinks for a moment he hears the Mabari snickering as they both stand guard at their post.


	2. Mornings After

Morning crept in quite slowly. Consciousness pooled in around her and for a moment she thought she had dreamt it all. Landsmeet was about to begin and the Maker had simply given her a warning of things to come, things she could do again...different. Senses began to awaken after the consciousness. Isabelle felt the coolness of the sheets around her, the pillow beneath her head. She heard a soft, masculine humming and felt at ease. She tasted...tasted...had she been licking the inside of a barrel?! She thought she heard thunder but soon realized it was inside her head, pounding out the memories of the night before. Her toe ached. Why did her toe ache? She could still hear the humming. She let her eyes squint, the light was like acid, pouring into her eyes. In the haze she saw Zevran, and he was naked. She let out an "oomf" type sound, turning and holding her aching head. She realized at that moment, she too was without clothes. She grabbed the blankets around her neck and sat up quickly.

"Zev!" She said, and held again the pounding head, closed her eyes tightly and willed her stomach to settle. "Why are you naked? Zev did we? Uh...how do I put this? Did I...?" She trailed off again.

Zevran turned to her and let out a quick laugh "No, Bella, the first thing you said we sat in the pub at Lake Calahad was 'Zev, no matter how much I throw myself at you tonight, do not take me up on my offer!' I agreed, and as a man of my word..." he said with a soft bow "I respected your wishes. Besides, I want you to remember me, not lose me in your lack of sobriety..."

"The Spoiled Princess...Oghren...Felsi...ugh...the Tower." Slowly the escapades of the night began to wash over her, she mentally kicked herself to agreeing to come so close to the Tower. Even the mental kick seemed to make her toe ache. "Where are my clothes, then? and more importantly, where are your clothes?" She couldn't help but sneak a quick peek at his subtle form. She was in no position to even think any further than a respect of his physique, but it was nice to look just the same.

"You were filthy and complained much about being so. After kicking the Templar and breaking....everything...in here, you tossed off your clothes, threw those at me as well, just before you passed out....so I sent them out to be laundered....along with mine, because, well I deserve clean clothes too...." he said with a slight but affirmative nod.

"Kicked a Templar?!" She said, and the throb in her toe became more apparent than her headache. "Cullen!" She said gruffly and slammed herself back into the bed under her sheets. "I hate him..." she trailed off.

"Tsk, tsk, there will be time for hatred after your bath." He said lightly and pulled the covers back from her face.

"You first, Zev" and she tried to pull the covers over her head again.

"I am already done" he said calmly, pulling the blankets again.

Isabelle squinted through her lashes again, fearing the light would make her brain explode. "Then I am back to my original question, why are you naked?"

He tossed a light pair of white cotton pants on, almost with a knowing grin. "I didn't want you to have any absurd feelings about modesty..."

Isabelle hoisted herself to the side of the bed and let her legs dangle for a moment. The room spun, once, quite quickly and seemed to decide that upright was a good angle. Her foot was bruised from about the middle down to the large toe which sat somewhat oddly. Getting her feet below her was not as hard as she thought and she limped over to the large white claw foot tub in the corner of her room. She lowered herself into the bath Zevran had prepared. There were some fine smelling oils and she approved. As she leaned back she put the injured foot out of the water on the end of the tub and sighed.

"Is it broken?" Zevran mused quietly.

"Yep..." Isabelle answered quickly and her eyes staring at her toes, she wiggled them slightly.

"Can't you heal it?" He almost chortled the question.

"Not without setting it first, and I just don't have the strength right now." She sighed a heavy sigh and the water around her faced danced away in small ripples "I can hobble down to the infirmary and have it taken care of later. Somehow try to explain how...it happened" She winced slightly as she moved it.

"Bah! I can set a toe." and he took a step towards her.

"You don't have to do that, it's not that bad" she protested, but he was grabbing her ankle and getting purchase on the toe. "ZEV NO! Don't touch me! Get OFF!" but he jerked the toe back into place with a snap, and Isabelle screamed in pain.

Just as Zevran was opening his mouth to say something smart to her a steel gauntlet caught him around the throat and he was up against the wall, the air pushed out of his chest. Cullen, it seemed, had only caught the tail end of that conversation. He looked to Isabelle, a bit out of breath from kicking in the door and clearing 20 feet in 2 seconds, "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" He turned back to the elf and squeezed his grip a bit tighter.

Isabelle was rubbing her foot and slowly spilling a mending spell into the bones, starting the process of lacing them back together correctly. "Yes, I mean, no, I mean...Cullen put him down." Cullen didn't budge he just stared at the elf, he let his grip around his neck loosen so he could breathe, but he just left him there, up against the wall.

"Cullen, so help me, if you do not put him down right this instant I will cross this floor, naked as the Maker made me, and tackle you off him myself." She was getting angry at this point, arms positioned on the side of the tub ready to make good on this promise.

Zevran caught Cullen pondering the risks vs. benefits of this little deal, and grinned widely. "Trust me, ser Templar, if you value your chastity, you will put me down before she does so. It is an unforgettable, magnificent sight. Fiery!" He said, and gnashed his teeth a bit.

"Zev, you're not helping anything. Never mind, Cullen, choke him out...." she said, and slid back against the end of the tub and closed her eyes.

"So he wasn't...?" Cullen said, looking to Isabelle, her eyes still shut "You didn't...?" Looking back to Zevran "He's not...?"

"He's my friend, Cullen, one of the few I have left, so I'd appreciate it if you left him alive...." And with that, Isabelle dunked her head under the water.

Cullen slowly lowered Zevran back to the floor. "I...uh..." and he turned and walked back out the door, closed it, and retook his position outside the door.

"Hm" was all Zevran said. He watched Cullen leave, as Isabelle came up for air.

"My head feels like a thunderstorm is raging inside" she finally said with the back of her head against the end of the tub.

"Now that I can fix too, and much less painfully or dramatically." He smirked as he rubbed his throat. He brought her a mug of warm sweet ginger tea which she took gratefully. He then reached for a bottle of oils next to the tub and began to wash her hair. Isabelle relaxed as he did so. There was no innuendo, no mal intent in this action - he pulled through all the tangles, massaged her scalp, worked the oils to the ends of her hair. Slowly she sipped her tea and the headache began to subside.

"Thank you" was all she said as he continued. "Thank you for...everything..."

"Bella, you should know by now that I value your friendship above all things. Your pain brings me pain." He finished what he was doing and she laid her head against the back of the tub her eyes shut. He put his back against the closest wall and watched her. The angles of her face, a feature he'd always admired, glistened in the morning light. "So...just how long have you known him..."

She didn't open her eyes, she just raised her eyebrows in thought. "...forever..."


	3. Cleanliness

Forever is a very long time.

As long as Isabelle has memory, she has known Cullen. She was brought to the tower very young, maybe 3 or 4, she doesn't really know. Children of the Chantry and Children of the Circle are allowed to play together at this age. Cullen, roughly the same age as she, was there. Her memories do not speak much of him, just the knowledge he was there, playing, alongside her and the others.

He pulled her hair, she punched him - and life moved on.

As they got older their friendship grew. Around 7 or 8 years of age, he would ask her to show him her magic. She could make the flowers blossom, or she could touch a skinned knee and will it to heal. He thought she was magnificent. He did not fear her. They were children then, and it all seemed so normal, so innocent. He calls her "Isa" no one else did, and it made her feel at home in the tall dark foreboding Tower.

He pulled her hair, she punched him - and life moved on.

Puberty, awkward...awkward puberty. True training for mages and templars alike began during this time. They found it harder and harder to spend time together. More and more they had just brief moments in the library or in the courtyard. They would discuss their training, he'd tease her about being a mage, she'd feign resentment. She'd throw a spell, he'd counter it. Neither of them knew any better and no one had told them that mages and templars shouldn't be friends, or more appropriately one day wouldn't be friends.

He pulled her hair, she punched him - and life moved on.

Blissful late teen years were where she noticed his expressions hardened a bit. He'd learned of Maleficarum, apostates, abominations - and for the first time he admitted to not understanding and even fearing magic. His duty was to protect her from the world and the world from her. Technically it was to protect the world from her and her from herself, and that made no sense to him. They laid out under the stars in the courtyard as they'd done a million times over. Never inappropriate. She reached out a hand and searched for his arm, she gave it a reassuring squeeze "You balance me, Cullen. You can cancel my magic. You make me normal." With that she went back to star gazing and constellation mapping in her head, and he went back to dreaming about normal and wondering what that was.

He pulled her hair, she punched him - and life moved on.

Before her Harrowing, life indeed got busy. She bustled around the tower, always with her nose in a book - he'd catch her for a chat in the library, but she could never stay for long. She studied with Jowan, another mage, and Cullen resented him slightly because he'd rather have the time with her. He knew how important this was to her, so he kept his frustrations mostly to himself. Only occasionally would he poke her in the ribs and complain quietly in the library.

He had taken his vows by this point. People began to assume things about their relationship. There were always whispers in the hallway. They tried to ignore them but it wasn't easy. He became more nervous around her, afraid people would get the wrong idea. She would tease him, though, mostly to watch him blush, but also to reassure him that nothing had changed. She always respected his boundaries.

He had told her after she woke up from the Harrowing that he was called to oversee it and he was horrified to find out it was her, lying there in the dream. He was unsure he could strike her down if anything happened but duty is duty and it would have been nothing personal. He was relieved when she succeeded and took post near the sleeping quarters while everyone waited for her to wake up. They talked pleasantries for only a few minutes afterwards.

And almost as quickly as she had woken up, she was gone. Some mission known only to First Enchanter Irving had cost her friendship with Jowan, and she was taken away from the Circle to become a Gray Warden. They hardly had a chance to find the words to say goodbye.

He pulled her hair, she punched him - and life moved on.

****

"So he pulled your hair?" Zevran said with his eyebrows furrowed.

"Yep, and then I punched him." Isabelle lifted an arm and rested her forearm on her head.

"...so then you love him..." Zevran said, with a smirk.

Isabelle thought for a moment, eyes still shut. "Yes." She finally broke the moment. "I suppose I always have..."

Cullen cleared his throat. "Isa, Wynne would like you to join her for breakfast as soon as you're capable."

"Cullen...how long have you...." she trailed off, her eyes still shut, hoping perhaps it was just in her mind, "...you knew he was there, didn't you, Zev?" She practically snarled the words.

"Yep." was all Zevran could muster, almost ashamed of the position he put his friend in, but not quite.

"...I hate you, Zev." and with that she went back under the water. She held her breath and contemplated murder of a blonde Antivan elf. For the first time in weeks, she finally felt clean.


	4. Breaking Bread

By the time Isabelle made it to the dining hall, most of the plates at the table had been cleaned. Zevran sat down at and began to nosh on the simple breakfast before him. Isabelle took a seat across from Wynne, but made no attempt to eat, not yet trusting her stomach. Cullen took up guard nearby.

"Nice of you to join us." Wynne said wryly. Isabelle was unsure but she seemed even more aged than she had been the last time she saw her.

"Ah.." The headache in her head was still a dull reminder of how she got to the tower, "I didn't realize I was expected..."

"We've been expecting you for almost a year." Wynne said curtly. "Your room has been waiting for you. We just didn't realize how long it would take you to drink your way across Ferelden."

Cullen made a mental note of when his guard duty of the long boring hallway had started. At least part of this had started to make sense. He could see Isabelle shifting uncomfortably in her chair. He was reminded of the times, before the Harrowing, that he'd seen her like this. In trouble with the First Enchanter. He was amused at how young she looked.

"To be fair, there is a lot of alcohol in Ferelden." Zevran said with a mouth full of biscuit.

"You're impossible, Zevran." Wynne's eyes cut sharply at the elf.

"I had a lot to think about...." Isabelle sighed.

"...AND you seem to think that drowning your sorrows in barrels of ale...making scenes...The Hero of Ferelden...stumbling out of taverns, starting fights....and doing WHO knows what else." Wynne was getting snarky, hardly speaking above a whisper.

Zevran was laughing by this point. "Wynne, my beauty, if she was not going to bed me, I was certainly not going to let some stranger take advantage of her. Be reasonable. Oghren and I were with her the entire time. She needed this and you know it."

The wrinkles on Wynne's face faded some as she relaxed. She reached out and hand and placed it over Isabelle's. "You're always welcome to come home. I am relieved you are here. I am sorry for...everything. He had no right, in front of your friends, to..."

Isabelle could feel her eyes starting to well up with tears, but she willed them back to her chest. "Don't, Wynne. Not here. Not now."

"Later then," she said, and patted Isabelle's hand affectionately. "You should eat, you look pickled from a diet of ale." Isabelle bit into a biscuit as Wynne got up from the table.

"...I don't look pickled..." Isabelle said under her breath as Wynne walked away. She still looked at her arms just to make sure.

Zevran was gazing around the dining hall. A fox like smile splayed across his face. "How do they do it?" He said with a gesture towards Cullen, standing nearby.

"Do what?" Isabelle said. Wynne had left a book at the table. She recognized it as one of the one's she'd given to her on their adventure: "The Rose of Orlais." It seemed a little tattered but loved. Isabelle began sifting through it, absentmindedly.

"Resist all of this!" Zevran said, holding his hands out as if to grasp the room of young mages. "There are so many...beautiful things to choose from!"

Isabelle bit off another bite of biscuit. "Training...years and years of training..." Her eyebrows raised, but her eyes stayed in the book "Oh yes, and being pummeled with the idea that mages are not real people, the only potential they have is to become evil and take over the world, and one day you may have to slaughter mages while they sleep if you suspect they might be an abomination..." she looked up, thoughtfully, from her book but not really staring at anything "I suppose intimate relationships could complicate the whole slaughter thing." She shrugged slightly. Her nose went back in the book.

"Ah, I see a flaw in your plan, I am not a Templar!" He put his hands behind his head and interlaced his fingers, his face full of fantasy and plan.

"Yes, but you see, the Templar vow in and of itself causes and enforces a mages 'vow' as it were - Maker forbid we might all go off starting little mageling families. Those things are strictly forbidden - which would cause your life to become significantly shorter." She turned a page in the book as she spoke.

"But it's not much of a deterrent if its afterwards." He mused, not seeing the crease appear on her forehead.

Isabelle had heard something similar, worlds away, she felt a tiny stab at her heart. She shook off the feeling, because there was no way Zevran would know. She hadn't spoken to anyone about it. "Yes" she said deliberately "but unless you want to also cause my untimely demise, I'd encourage you not too."

Zevran's face danced with a few thoughts but shook his head somewhat confused. "I do not see how my trysts would cause your demise. I know for a fact you are not that kind of woman."

"Because, Zev," She swallowed the bite of biscuit. "After the Templars killed you, I would kill them. At least some of them..." She heard Cullen shift nervously in his armor. "...starting with that one." She pointed up towards Cullen but never looked away from the book. "Eventually they would get me in a rush...and well...untimely demise."

"Awww...You would do that for me?" Zevran smiled widely.

"Yep." Isabelle said shortly, her face stayed without expression, just intent on reading. "I'd give up a kingdom for you, Zev."

"...And I would never dump you in front of your friends the morning after you helped me become king." He placed an affectionate hand on her shoulder and squeezed - Isabelle grimaced slightly but not because of the squeeze. Zevran patted her shoulder. "With all these...glorious temptations in front of me....I think I need to take a walk. I am going to ferry across to The Spoiled Princess and see if Oghren needs to be scraped up off the floor. I'll be back shortly."

With that he stood up and faced Cullen. "Ser Templar..." giving a mock bow, "I leave her in your capable hands." He watched for the Templar's face to flush, which it did. "See no harm comes to her." As he walked away, passing a group of young mages, Isabelle could hear him saying "Maker's Mercy! This place will be the death of me."

Cullen stood there for a moment, silent. Carefully he started to choose his words. "Did he really....?"

"Who, Cullen? Did who really?" Isabelle responded, lost in the book.

"Uh, Alistair...the King...Did he...?" Cullen stammered.

Before he was able to finish his sentence, Isabelle closed the book, probably harder than she needed to and she was staring him in the eyes. He could feel as well as see her face darken. "Did he what, Cullen? Did he, in front of all of my friends, call into question my femininity, my ability to bear children - lowering his opinion of me to a glorified failure of a baby maker....or do you mean did he throw back at me the very curse of magic I was learning again to treat as a gift. Thinking, mistakenly, that somehow he understood me, saw ME, not the robes or the magic or the ridiculous paranoia and prejudices that this place breeds??"

Cullen was unsure whether or not he should answer those questions. He opened his mouth but no words escaped. She held up a finger telling him to stop.

"Yes, Cullen." She sighed. "He did all of those things and more." She closed her eyes and gave her head a tiny shake to rid her mind of the memories that had broken through the flood gates she was building in her mind. She opened her eyes and the book again and started thumbing for the page she'd left.

"Then he is the fool, Isa. I am sorry." Cullen stood strait and looked out across the dining hall.

"Thank you, Cullen." She said sincerely, somewhat softly. "But I am the one who feels like the fool. At least I am the one who he left slack jawed and looking like the fool. Your sympathy, however, is appreciated and warms this bitter, bitter heart."

The silence that surrounded them was comfortable. It spoke volumes of who they were, here in this place. A mage and templar, actually enjoying each other's company.

"SMUT!" Isabelle exclaimed, holding up the book with a fantastic grin on her face. A few mages turned from their tables to look at her.

Cullen again stammered and flushed, "W-w-what?"

"This book it total smut. That sly Wynne." Isabelle felt warm and happy. She tucked the book in the pocket of her robes.


	5. Mage Legs

The pair walked in silence down a long stone hallway. "You should get some sleep, Cullen. I'm sorry about last night, and this morning...and all the other foolish things you'll ultimately get to see me do... hear me say...maybe even today."

"It's true, I'll head to bed now." He ran his hand through his hair. "Need to be well rested in case I have to put down the Hero of Ferelden." He was smiling and his eyes crinkled.

"Yes, yes, fear my power..." Sounding clearly un-impressive, she twirled a hand in the air above her head. "Besides, I would totally win." She returned his smile. He pulled her hair, she punched him, and he walked off towards the Templar quarters.

Isabelle was not sure how she'd spend the rest of her day but she knew she should report to Wynne. With the memory of the Tower forever etched in her mind she began walking to the First Enchanter's office. Wynne was sitting behind Irving's desk writing feverishly. Isabelle knocked before entering.

"Ah, Isabelle, please sit." Wynne gestured to the chair across from her.

"What are you writing?" Isabelle tried to peer over the desk.

"Oh this?" She said, trying to push the letter under a paperweight. "Its's a..." She stopped, however, looking caught. She sighed and looked up to Isabelle "It's a report...to Denerim...to.."

"Alistair...." She let her forehead thump forward on the desk.

"Isabelle, he was worried....when no one heard from you he put out orders for everyone to report if they saw you." Her forehead creased. "I'm doing my duty, but he gets nothing more from me that a report that you are safe. I doubt anything will come of it."

Isabelle sat up and shrugged. "Its ok, Wynne, I knew if I came back, he'd find out one way or another."

"Why did you come back?" Wynne asked with honest curiosity.

"I wasn't going to..." Isabelle stood up, walked over, and looked out the window. "I was going to keep moving, maybe find my way to Orlais...someplace not here...but when Oghren got the wild hair to see Felsi, I thought it sounded like a good idea. I figured being able to be so close and not actually come to the Tower would be like passing the Harrowing." She folded her arms across her chest. "I failed."

"Coming home is not failure, Isabelle, running away from yourself, that is failure." Wynne certainly always had a way with words. "Now that you're here, what shall you do? We don't keep much ale in the tower..."

"Its fine, Zevran has gone back to gather up Ogrhen. Drinking alone is a completely different kind of problem, and one of the few I don't have. I doubt they'll be back for a few days. Zevran had some...frustrations to work out." She walked over and retook her seat. "If its ok with you, I'd like to train a little. I haven't really stretched my mage legs much over the past months."

"You're welcome to stay and train as long as you would like. Just know if you stay long enough, you'll be teaching too."

"I'll try not to stay too long then..." Isabelle smiled an honest smile. "You know I'll help you in any way that I can, Wynne. If I'd tried harder and been sharper against Uldred, maybe we wouldn't be in this position."

Wynnes eyebrows furrowed. "What happened to Uldred and ultimately to Irving was not your fault."

"Maybe, but it sure feels like a lot of the really rotten things that have happened have been because of a choice that I had to make. I mean seriously, what part of 'I just passed my Harrowing and have no idea how to lead men and save Ferelden' is so hard to understand?" Isabelle covered her face with her hands in frustration and harrumphed. "Looking back I was so young and so stupid....to come here to the Tower first. I wasn't ready. When I heard it was in trouble, I couldn't make a different decision. My friends, my family - I had to save as many as I could."

"No point in dwelling, Isabelle. You did the best you could with the cards the Maker dealt you, dear" She gestured towards the door. "Now go stretch those mage legs, as you so eloquently put it."

****

Isabelle stood in the training grounds outside the Tower. She always hated practicing in the library, and after lighting several volumes of history on fire, they made her practice outside anyway. It wasn't uncommon for mages and templars to actually train together. How else would the templars hone their skills in anti-magic? She thought back to many of her duels with Cullen and other templars. It seemed like another lifetime.

She'd grown up very quickly since leaving the Tower. She'd led men to their deaths and ultimately victory against an archdemon. Being back in the training grounds was almost comforting. She squared off against the big scary imposing...training dummy. She dropped her head and slumped her shoulders "...oh how the mighty have fallen..." she sighed.

For hours she folded and twisted in the veil. By the time she was done, the training dummy was smoldering and a bead of sweet trickled down her temple.

"So...what did that training dummy ever do to you?" Isabelle startled and turned to find Cullen in the archway of the training grounds leaning against the wall.

"Uh...he said something unkind about my hair." She was still a little winded from the flurry. "Why aren't you in your armor? You look...weird...I mean good weird, not just weird-weird. I don't think I've seen you in clothes in years...wait...that didn't sound right....not like I've seen you naked...what was I saying?" She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip to stop her stammering.

"My duty doesn't start until after dinner. I was on my way to the dining hall when I saw in the training yard." He walked towards where she was standing. "Are you enjoying yourself out here?"

"Not really, he refuses to fight back, I feel guilty each time I light him on fire." She squinted into the sun trying to check what time it was and to try to push down the fact that Cullen walking towards her had made her heart skip a beat. For some reason casting spells always left her feeling a little vulnerable.

"I'll fight you. I'll even fight back." He quipped. "Besides, I think your exact quote was 'I'll totally win.' I aim to prove you wrong, Isa."

Isabelle stood up strait, eyes level with Cullen. "Rules?" His challenge had been accepted.

"Rattan weapons, full strengths, and..." He looked around the courtyard and then back at Isabelle. He waggled his finger at her. "...no propositions, even in jest. You're very distracting."

"Deal." And the two squared off against each other, circling for the duel. Cullen picked up a training sword and shield. She picked up her staff and somewhere in the back of her mind, Isabelle started planning a spell. Something small, she thought to herself. She really didn't want to hurt him. She threw her hand down at her side and willed the lightning to grow. As she unleashed the half-hearted spell a force blasted her in the face. It knocked her back, she lost her balance and fell to the floor. The back of her head hit the stone.

"You're holding back." Cullen said standing over top of her.

"You've been training..." She rubbed the back of her head.

"I just wanted you to see what you were up against..." Cullen reached out a hand to help her up.

"Hey, you said no propositions!" She grinned a little wickedly, and reached up for Cullen's grasp.

"Isa....rules..." He looked frustrated and helped her to her feet.

Then they were off. Spells flew, counters were made. Cullen brought a sword down across Isabelle's chest, she pulled back and rolled out of the way. The next swing she blocked with her staff and she continued the spell.

"You've never been able to do that..." He shouted above the fray.

"You're not the only one who has been training..." she spun a quick spell and knocked him back from her.

"So when did you first know?" Cullen again was shouting as he resisted the sleep spell she slung at him.

"Know what?" She dodged another sword blow and prepared another spell.

"...that you loved me..." He shielded himself from the spell.

"We were eight, I think..." She was panting now, winded from the exertion. "You stopped some kids from beating me up. You knew full well you'd never hear the end of it." She twisted quickly and rolled out of the way of another sword blow. "You also knew it wouldn't stop them from beating me up eventually, but you did it anyway."

He swung again, hard, she caught the brunt of it on her shoulder and tossed a quick heal spell to ease the bruising. She pulled a shield of magic up around her to deflect the further blows and started planning another spell. "You?"

"Ten, we were ten." He said breathlessly, bashing Isabelle with his shield interrupting her spell. "You were out here barefoot trying to count the stars. It was something about the way you looked up at them, like anything was possible."

The two continued their duel, tradeing blow for blow. A crowd started to gather around the courtyard. Templars and mages alike were drawn to the commotion. Knight-Commander Greagior and Wynne even stepped out to see what they were doing. Greagior had a look on his face like he'd eaten lemons. Wynne swatted him on the arm. "Oh stop it, they're good for each other."

Greagior grumbled, "...they always have been."

People were cheering and chanting. Someone was taking bets. For a moment, the line between Templars and mages seemed blurred.

The battle waged and Isabelle felt the last few years of pain and sadness ebbing away and draining through the cracks in the stone walkway. She knew she needed to end this, though, her powers were waning. She drew in the edges of the veil around her and with one final blast, knocked Cullen completely off his feet. She stood over top of him panting, "Do you yield?"

Cullen was panting equally as hard, the sweat beaded across his forehead. He was even smiling as he took his sword and knocked her legs out from under her. "We'll call it a draw..." They laid there breathlessly recovering as the crowd started to clear.


	6. Confessions

If they'd been lovers, Isabelle thought, they would have been laying there embracing each other. She would have placed lazy kisses along his jaw line and come to rest her head on his shoulder. He would have been running his fingers through her hair.

Of course, had they been lovers, it would not have been a duel that left them spent either. Instead, no, this was Isabelle and Cullen, mage and templar, laying on the hard dirt floor of the training yard. She closed her eyes in thought. She wondered for a moment what he was thinking about. When she opened her eyes to look at him he was on his side, head on hand, elbow propping him up. He was looking at her.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He said. His question was fairly light-hearted, but he was serious.

"What? And ruin the surprise?" She rubbed the palm of her hands into her eyes. She had a small internal struggle about what to tell him and small frustrating groan crept through her chest. "Actually, I thought about it a few times. When we were teenagers." She looked at him again and shrugged. "What would it have changed? Aside from making our lives much more awkward? There was a chance I'd offend you and ruin what I had come to consider a strong friendship. There was a chance you'd take me up on it, we'd get caught, they'd send you away. Besides, you know how well I keep secrets. Irving could just look at me and know what I was thinking." She thought for a moment about Jowan. "I couldn't risk losing you."

Dusk was falling. Isabelle watched the first few stars popping out on what promised to be a moonless summer night. "Besides, I am nothing if not well trained. Mages can never leave the tower, unless on Official Circle business....not even for a beer. It's not like we could have run off together. Also, mages are evil, remember? I've memorized my Chantry Dogma. 'Magic is a sin of pride.' We caused the fall of the Maker...something-something..." She looked quizzical for a moment. "I never understood it but I believed it. I don't even remember life before here. I am pretty sure I didn't ask to be able to cast magic. Maybe it's just punishment for another lifetime of sins...."

"It's probably best you didn't tell me." Cullen said, rolling over onto his back his hands behind his head. "One of the things that kept me strong up in the tower was knowing you would never have come right out and...done..." he shifted a little uncomfortably and cleared his throat "...done those sort of things to me. It wasn't until they got further into my mind that they taunted me sweetly and with wishes of normalcy. It was a good thing you came when you did."

"Normalcy?" Isabelle asked while counting the stars.

"There is a village across the lake, in those mountains." He pointed off towards the north. "I'm not sure the name of it, however. I used to dream that we were born there – the normal children of normal farmers - that at 16, I asked to court you – that at 19, I asked you to marry me – that at 20, we started our family. That is where the demon started finding my weaknesses."

"So I'm your....fantasy farm girl?" Isabelle tried to stifle laugh.

"To be fair, you'd look fantastic in overalls, but I digress." His eyes glimmered with his smile. "I'm glad it's out there at least. No longer a secret. I don't have to feel like the complete idiot who spouted off things to his dream farm girl....thinking she was a demon...when she actually wasn't a demon...but actually was who she was. It's nice to know that I wasn't the only one with conflicted feelings..." Cullen shrugged. He blew out a breath that Isabelle had not been aware he was holding. His voice took a more serious turn, "Anyway, what did you find up there, after you left me in the prison. When the magic dropped and I ran up the stairs to find you, Irving was already....dead....along with Uldred and the others."

"It was strange, Cullen. When I saw you, and I heard what they'd done to you using me. I got angry. I knew I had to see what was up there and I had to find a way to get you out. When the battle started, Wynne kept telling me to use the Litany to stop the mages from becoming abominations, but I heard something. I heard something that to this day chills my very bones. Uldred kept asking them to accept his gift." Isabelle said, her voice a little shaky. "It was the same thing he asked me when I first got up there – to accept his gift, to be with him – and I was able to deny him. When he started asking these mages to accept, I decided to let them answer." She looked towards Cullen, whispering, eyes glistening on the verge of tears. "They all accepted....even Irving..."

Cullen puzzled over the things she'd just told him. It took him a moment to realize she was crying, so completely silent, in the dark. He struggled over the appropriate thing to do. He reached out his hand and searched for her arm, he gave it a re-assuring squeeze. "It's over now." He said softly, and let his hand rest on her forearm for a moment. "Until you clever mages figure out how to travel back in time there is nothing really left to do but look forward."

"Look forward. Huh." Isabelle sniffled slightly and ran her sleeved arm across her eyes. "I returned to the tower which is completely backwards. I may as well have traveled through time. I don't even know where I belong anymore. I'm not sure my liver can handle drinking my way to Orlais...."

"Why were you drinking your way to Orlais, anyway?" his hands back under his head and looking skyward.

"Well..." she sighed softly "It turns out that having your heart broken is more painful than having your belly split open by darkspawn." Isabelle absentmindedly rubbed her abdomen. "I just wanted to feel something different or not feel anything. It numbed my mind and thus my pain."

"And Zevran?" The question was very intentionally open ended.

"Oh, well, after a botched assassination attempt and sparing his life, he swore an oath of loyalty to me. He's been by my side, filling my glass, and holding my hair as I wretched, night after night, since we left Denerim." Isabelle laughed softly. "It's silly, but he cares for me too much to bed me, and in that I feel safe. He has done so much for me. He's held me while I cried, tolerated me while I screamed, and never once did he tell me I was doing anything wrong - he just let me mourn. I trust him. He's been the only one who has been completely upfront and honest with me since we met. I'm sure he'd have taken me to bed any time I asked at the beginning, but it changed into something entirely different as time went on."

"Only you, Isa." Cullen mused, chuckling to himself. "Only you would spare the life of a man who just tried to kill you...and then become close friends and confidants"

She shrugged, "It's a shortcoming, I know."

"It's a strength, and don't let anybody dare tell you different." He smiled.

The wind picked up softly and blew the smell of the lake over them – it was sweet and fresh. Isabelle was pondering the village across the lake when a low grumble filled the air.

Cullen looked up, "Was that your stomach?!"

"Ah...yes...turns out I've not eaten anything since breakfast." She was trying to laugh and not look embarrassed but it didn't really work.

"We've missed dinner." Cullen said getting to his feet and reaching out a hand to help her up. "I need to get dressed, but I'll pick up a plate from the kitchen and bring it up with me."

After being pulled to her feet, Isabelle stood there for a moment in the darkness. She contemplated rules and training and harm. Once she was done with the math, she found no harm in it. She threw her arms around Cullen's waist and hugged him.

Cullen was a bit surprised by the gesture. He couldn't remember the last time she'd hugged him, maybe ten years ago? They had to have been children. He hesitated briefly, doing his own math, and coming up with the same equation Isabelle had. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and tucked her head underneath his chin.

There, in the honesty of darkness, the line of mage and templar did disappear. When it came right down to it, they were friends, regardless of life's directions, and that...that...was normal. The moment ended not long after it began. They went about the business of the evening: Cullen getting ready to guard her from the world and from herself and she getting ready to curl up with a really good book tucked away in her pocket.


	7. Awakenings

Isabelle awoke the next morning to a gauntlet on the shoulder. If a gauntlet could be gentle, this one was, at least initially. When she waved off Cullen's first attempt, he got a little more insistant. Initially, she was disoriented. Her eyes were wide and her face somewhat confused. She still had "The Rose of Orlais" clutched tightly to her chest. She tried to remember where the night had ended and her dreams had begun. This was one of the first mornings in recent memories that she woke up without a pounding headache and a sour stomach or the difficult task of remembering how she got wherever she was. It was refreshing.

"Isa, Knight-Commander Greagior wants to see you." Cullen said as he stood near the chair she'd fallen asleep in.

"Mmmm, I was having the strangest dreams." Isabelle stretched the areas that had been severely cramped by the overstuffed chair. The Mabari was completely laid out across her comfortable bed, and she was reminded why she took her book to the chair in the first place.

Cullen moved back to his position outside the open door. "Really? What about?" He called over his shoulder.

"Darkspawn." She said quickly, not wanting to admit to haylofts. She stood up and stretched high above her head and stood on her tip toes.

"You do know you talk in your sleep, right?" Cullen chuckled.

"Oh....great..." Flushed, she walked over to the washbasin near by and splashed some cool water on her face. She took a quick look in the mirror and pulled down a few rogue curls. She needed to look somewhat presentable to see Greagior. "Do you know what he wants?"

"He didn't say, just that you needed to be in his office this morning."

She blew out a held breath of frustration. "Well, no point in delaying the inevitable..." At least I won't be hungover, she thought to herself.

****

Isabelle sat in the hard wood chair opposite where Knight-Commander Greagior would be sitting, if he was actually in his office. She had a elbow on the armrest and was chewing a thumbnail nervously. She was fairly certain that he left people waiting and the room 20 degrees colder than comfortable as a power play. It was working. She shifted her weight in the chair and tried to calm her heart.

Here she was, Hero of Ferelden, squirming like an apprentice. She had been in this chair exactly once in her short mage career. She had taken the blame for a frog experiment gone wrong when she was 14. Something Jowan had concocted. Jowan had already been in trouble three times the same week and he had begged her to take the fall on this one. She had, and it landed her right in the awful hardwood chair, in this awful cold office, waiting on an awful cold man.

"Warden." The deep voice resonated a greeting as Knight-Commander Greagior entered the room. She stood up out of respect. A single Templar took post by the door.

He had called her 'Warden,' not Isabelle, not mage, not enchanter, not 'hey you', but Warden.

"Please sit." He said as he reached his chair and sat himself. He put his elbows on his desk in front of him and tapped his fingers together as he stared at her. She sat down and tried not to look like a frightened apprentice and more like a Grey Warden. She wasn't sure it was working.

The last time she'd seen him was on the battlefield with the Archdemon. When she called for the Templars, he led the charge. He led those men furiously and without hesitation up against the Darkspawn and Archdemon. She had never and has never seen an equal to his skill. Something looked different about the Knight-Commander, she couldn't quite place it.

"I see you and Cullen are up to your old antics." He said as he sat back and relaxed somewhat in his chair.

Isabelle blinked, she'd been distracted by haylofts, but realised he meant the duel. "Y-yes sir." Bah, did she have to start stuttering?! She took a deep breath and focused. "He's come a long way from when I last remember fighting him."

"He's a good warrior – works hard – trains hard. Thank you for letting him test his skills on a worthy opponent." He tapped his fingers on his desk.

Did he just thank her and call her worthy in the same sentence? Isabelle thought maybe she was still dreaming. She looked at her robes to make sure she was still wearing them.

"Something wrong Warden?" Greagior continued tapping.

"Ah..." She blew out a breath she'd been holding. "Its just that...." Honesty seems to be her strong point lately. "You scare me, Sir, you've always scared me. Since I was a little girl and they brought me here, and you lorded over us – ready, able, and willing to strike us down at any moment. My fear of you is something quite...primal."

Greagior stopped tapping his fingers and squinted his eyes at her. "I strike down blood mages and abominations – are you either of those things?"

"I don't think so..." She looked at her forearms out of reflex.

"Good, then you have nothing to fear. The mages encourage the stories of striking you down because it causes mages to fear Templars and ulitmately hate them – it also encourages you to study harder, not toy with demons, and eat your peas on occasion. The Circle merely tolerates Templars out of neccessity." He smiled at her. "Besides, you are a Grey Warden, the Hero of Ferelden, and have earned my respect. We have spilled blood on the same battle ground. I have no more control over you than I do...say...the King."

She hoped he didn't notice her wince when he said King. Wait...was he smiling? That was what was different. His face looked relaxed. Before, she'd always seen him with the weight of the Tower upon his shoulders. It hadn't really occurred to her what it would mean to the men she had fought with on the battlefield, but apparently shared bloodshed equalled an unspoken comradery.

"As you know we've been going through a lot of rebuilding since Irving's passing." His face grew ashen as he spoke his name. Though they had always been at each other's throats over Circle decisions, they did respect each other and at one point she suspected they may have even liked each other. "Evidence has been found pointing towards Uldred as the mastermind behind the entire blood mage uprising and ultimate downfall within the Tower. The mage you spared on your way up the tower entered the Chantry and has since provided valuble information while repenting. It seems Uldred had a finger in the mind of many of the upper eschelon of mages...and even some of the Templars." He uncomfortably shifted his position in his chair and cleared his throat. "If it had not been for you, we would have never known, Warden, and for that I am forever grateful. I felt the change in the Tower as soon as Uldred died. I want to make sure something like this never happens again. I would like your help."

Did he just ask for her help? Isabelle sat forward and tried to hide the shock in her face. "I'm not sure how I can help, but I will do whatever the Circle needs me to do."

"Perhaps you could evaluate the Circle and bring back a report." He began tapping on the desk again.

"You want me...to evaluate the Circle?" Isabelle could no longer hide the shock in her face. "No offence, Knight-Commander, but are you sure?"

"Who better than a Grey Warden Mage who has not only battled blood-mages and abominations, in this Tower no less, but also defeated an Archdemon with the strength of the remaining Templars behind them?" He leaned forward. "I thought about locking down the Tower again, tighter if possible, but we see where that got us. Before we make any decisions I want your report in my hands."

Isabelle looked for any tell-tale signs of humor in his face. Perhaps there were people hiding behind tapestries getting ready to jump out and yell "Surprise" right before they put her in chains and drug her away. She even wondered for a second if this was a poor attempt by a novice desire demon to take over her mind. She found none of these to be the case. Pulling her self up and holding her head high, she accepted.

"Great." He said simply. "I'll let Wynne know you've accepted our assignment."

Did he say 'our'?

"Now, is there anything else I can do for you?" He said as he leaned back in his chair.

"Well..." Isabelle thought about her sobriety for a moment and the need to check on Zevran and Oghren who had yet to return from the Spoiled Princess. "If it is ok, I'd like to ferry over to the little village and check on my traveling companions this evening."

He picked up a pen and started scratching something on a piece of paper. "I think that can be arranged, you are free to come and go as you please. The Spoiled Princess has been a waypoint for Templars for many years. The ale is crap, but the food isn't terrible..."

"I..uh...appreciate the recommendation...." Isabelle got up to prepare to take her leave.

"Take Cullen with you." He said as he finished writing on the piece of paper and handed it to a Templar who had been at the door.

"That won't be necessary, I won't need a guard for this trip." Isabelle protested.

"He is not to go guard you, Warden. Cullen has refused to take leave or any sort of break since the...incident. He needs this and I think you're the one who can get him out of this forsaken tower." He pulled out another piece of paper and began writing.

Isabelle nodded and headed towards the door.

"...and Isabelle..." Knight-Commander Greagior called.

"Yes Sir?" She turned in the doorway.

He didn't look up from what he was writing, "Alistair always was a twerp."

She smiled warmly and wondered for a moment if his head would explode if she ran over and hugged him. She came to the decision that it probably would so she just turned and walked out of the cold office.

When Isabelle made it back out to the hallway, Wynne was waiting for her. "So you'll do it?" She looked almost gleeful.

"Yes, I agreed....this was your idea wasn't it?!" Isabelle scowled playfully.

"Perhaps. It will do you good and the Circle some good as well. Even if nothing changes, at least we know we tried. This could be a new era of mages in Ferelden." She slipped her arm through Isabelle's. "Come, I'll show you to your office."

"Are you sure you want a drunk evaluating the Circle...?" Isabelle chided, as they walked down the hallway.

"Well, pickings are slim, my dear, pickings are slim." Wynne patted her on the forearm.


	8. Comradery

Isabelle wondered if things could get any weirder. It's not every day that you are asked to perform a job and serve a purpose for the man and place she'd feared and resented growing up. She'd also never gone drinking with a Templar. She hadn't really been sure they did drink. She reminded herself that the vow is not about alcohol. In a history book she had read long ago she'd learned about priests and Templars who actually brewed "liquid bread" rumored to be some of the finest, darkest, richest ale in all of the kingdoms. She had never come across it in her travels, so she assumed it was a fairy tale. She decided things most definitely could get weirder .

She pulled on a pair of grey wool traveling pants, a white shirt, and a green capelet. The capelet had been a gift from Zevran after their first tavern experience in Ferelden. Turns out, Alistair was mostly right about the ignorance of people. Regardless of her role in the slaying of an Archdemon and her status within the Grey Wardens, some people were still afraid of mages. Fear breeds violence. After her first bar scuffle - called a scuffle because its not much of a fight when someone hits you and you hit the floor - Zevran had encouraged her to look less mage-like. As she pulled her hair back into a loose pony-tail and pulled on some soft leather boots - she did indeed look much less mage-like.

Isabelle walked down the cold stone stairs and then circled the hallway towards the main entrance. The apprentice quarters were still pretty empty. A few young children were herded around by a mage, getting ready for dinner and bedtime. For a moment she yearned for the ignorance of youth.

Cullen was waiting by the front gates - before he could say anything stupid about 'never seeing her in real clothes' or 'out of her robes' she held up a hand and said, "Trust me, less mage-like the better."

"Do you think it is safe for us to leave?" Cullen asked while looking around the main foyer of the Tower. He had a troubled look on his face.

"If anything takes over the Tower while we're at The Spoiled Princess, I promise we'll have the appropriate group ready to come reclaim it. A few of us have done it once or twice before...." She said with a smile as she exited the main doors.

"...good to know..." Cullen said, mostly under his breath. He followed behind her, looking nervously over his shoulder.

They made their way down the stairs towards the ferry dock. Ferryman Kester was already there, extinguishing the beacon which summoned the ferry across. The Mabari, already in the boat, wagged his nub and stood at the bow like some sort of twisted figurehead.

"You never did tell me his name." Cullen said motioning towards the dog, while taking a seat on one of the planks in the boat.

"He never told me." Isabelle said as she sat in the floor of the boat near the stern. "He seems to think its funny." The Mabari turned his head, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth in an appropriate grin. "I used to call him Mage Slayer..I found it inappropriate to use in the tower, though." Isabelle said as she closed her eyes and the boat pulled away from the dock.

Both Kester and Cullen had a little startled look on their face, but only Cullen dare spoke. "Mage Slayer? Isn't that a little ironic?"

"Ironic, maybe, but accurate none-the-less." Isabelle willed her stomach to settle as the little boat lurched across the wakes in the large lake. She kept her eyes closed. "In a fight, the mage is almost always your most imposing and threatening opponent - they can heal or do massive burst damage or damage everyone at once - that dog right there can attack a mage, rip its throat out and be done before you've even dispatched your first target."

Cullen looked at the dog who continued to grin and wag his nub. He looked back to Isabelle who was looking a little green. "Not much for boats? Cullen said with a small laugh, as he himself was enjoying the open water and non-stagnant air.

Isabelle raised her eyebrows "Um...just not much experience I guess....small boat, big water...maybe I'm just a realist...." She clasped her hands together and laid her forehead against them. "The way back will be easier...."

The ferry made its way across the large lake. The remnants of the Imperial Highway loomed over top of them. Centuries back it had fallen into the water and now is just stood there like a skeletal appendage of the tower reaching out into the lake. Cullen wondered why it had never been replaced after the collapse. He supposed it had to do with expense and necessity. Keeping mages locked away in a tower was much easier if they had to learn how to swim to escape. He looked down to Isabelle who was at this point praying, he assumed, by the way her lips moved. It made him smile. He felt his shoulders become much lighter as the Tower grew smaller in the distant and the shore approached.

When they reached the shore, Cullen reached down and tapped Isabelle on the shoulder. She looked up over her clenched fists at the shoreline then looked skyward and mouthed the words 'thank you.' He offered her an arm in assistance out of the boat which she accepted. The Mabari went ahead of them and patiently waited at the door to The Spoiled Princess.

The decor of the place was unchanged from when Isabelle had run, kicking and screaming, out of it two nights ago. The air hung heavy with the smell of stale ale and body odor. It was less revolting than one might think, and it actually eased some of Isabelle's nerves. Cullen, however, was not as impressed by the stench. To the right was a large group of burly disgruntled patrons, quick count was 7, maybe 8 if she counted the one passed out on the floor. Zevran and Oghren were sitting at a table for four near the bar. Felsi was sitting on Oghren's lap, playing with his beard, they were still fighting, but Isabelle figured that was their foreplay. Zevran had a buxom barmaid on his knee who giggled like a school girl every time he nuzzled her neck.

At the bar sat two Templars who Cullen recognized as Bran and Stephen - they both nodded a greeting to Cullen which he returned. He thought for a moment Isabelle might shrink back out of the bar, but quite the opposite. She walked over and greeted both the Templars by name, with an arm grasp and a pat on the shoulder. He overheard her thank them briefly for their services in the archdemon battle - she ordered and paid for two ales for the Templars then turned around and found a seat at the table with Zevran and Oghren. Cullen pulled up a seat as well.

"Isabelle!" Oghren said, his eyes blinking asymmetrically. "Where have you been? I've..." *hick* "been looking everywhere for you...."

"When he says 'everywhere'" Zevran chimed in "He means the bottom of that mug right there...."

Oghren laughed a deep belly laugh. "He's right..." Felsi jumped up and grabbed two ales from the bar and set them in front of Isabelle and Cullen.

"I went over to the tower, Oghren." Isabelle said as she grabbed the tankard set in front of her and took a swig of the ale. It was absolutely horrendous. She knew the smart thing, or the good drinking thing, would be to down it in a few gulps to numb her tongue and throat to be able to tolerate the following brews, but she felt a twinge of restraint in the back of her brain. She tried to quiet it, unsuccessfully. Zevran caught her eye, she shrugged, he grinned.

"....who are you...?" Oghren said as he eyeballed Cullen as Felsi retook her position on his lap.

"Cullen...My name is Cullen..." he said as he sniffed the drink recently set before him.

"Trust me, don't smell, just drink." Zevran said as he leaned over and whispered something in the barmaid's ear. Her cheeks grew pink and she started giggling again.

"Cullen...Cullen...oh! You're the one Isabelle...." He flinched "Hey! Who's kicking me?!"

Isabelle took another swig of ale and glared at Oghren over the mug.

"I was just going to say he's the one who you broke your foot on, missy." Oghren rubbed his shin. "You should really stop kicking people."

It didn't take long with ale flowing and the nature of the friends for stories to start pouring out. Zevran and Oghren seemed to take particular joy in describing just how much Isabelle had changed throughout the blight - from hiding in bushes or being knocked unconscious by the first Hurlock Alpha she'd ever faced - or her initially inability to wait before tossing out her fastest hardest spells and drawing everyone's attention to try to kill her. Oghren even did a great impression of her running around squealing "get it off me get it off me..." Her wonderful friends even managed not to use the words "Alistair" or "King" in any of their stories. She appreciated it. Even the Templars from the bar had turned around on their stools to listen in or add their own personal experiences from battle with the Archdemon.

Isabelle felt warm and comfortable. She'd paced herself to a nice place. There was no need to be numb and she wanted to remember this night. She kept catching Zevran's smile and even managed to fend off Oghren when he challenged her to a drinking contest. She relished in the perfection of the night, well...almost.

Shortly after midnight, the largest of the disgruntled patrons in the corner approached the table. Oghren had just finished the second telling of "get it off me get it off me" and Isabelle was mid laugh when she saw him standing there. She cleared her throat. "Something we can help you with, boys?" She tried keeping it lighthearted.

"You!" The man staggered a bit. "You're the 'Hero of Ferelden.'" He said the last part in a mocking sing-song way. He looked over his shoulder at his buddies who had come up behind him and they gave a gruff laugh and some encouragement. "More like 'Whore of Ferelden.'"

Cullen went to stand up but Oghren put a hand on his chest and whispered. "Hold on a second, hero, you can't have all the fun. This is about to get good."

Felsi and Zevran's arm candy started clearing the table of mugs. They went to the bar and started pulling anything breakable behind it. Cullen watched as Zevran moved his chair out and started rolling up his sleeves nonchalantly. Oghren just continued to blink asymmetrically and gave a low guttural giggle. It took him a second to realize they were getting ready for a fight - he looked over to Isabelle. Her face was unreadable, her stare locked on the man who had just insulted her.

"I think you're mistaking me with someone else." She said coolly, as she pushed her chair back some and leaned forward on the table. "We're not here for trouble..."

"Oh there is no mistaking it, we heard your stories..." He started to laugh, gruffly. "We know who the real hero is, King Alistair...you are nothing more than a two bit harlot." There were cheers and pats on the back from the guys behind him. "And who is this? Your latest conquest to share your bed?" He motioned towards Cullen.

Isabelle started calculating odds. Not the best, but they'd been up against worse. She stood up. "...Jealous?"

"Hardly....dirty mage..." he snarled the words. "They'll let anyone be a Grey Warden....You were given all the credit after the blight -- hardly seems fair...I could have done a better job...." he trailed off about something about prostitution, but Isabelle had stopped listening.

"I'm afraid the fact that your parents were siblings would disqualify you from the Grey Warden's," Isabelle retorted, "Seems they have a very strict rule on inbreeding..."

She knew it was coming. She could hear him gathering the phlegm in his throat. In the past her senses would have been too dulled to do any more than close her eyes and turn her head. This time her senses here not so dulled. The room was silent except for that awful throaty sound coming from the patron - time passed in near slow motion. Oghren cracked his knuckles. The Templars at the bar shifted, expecting the veil to thin - but no such thing happened. Instead Isabelle boxed the mucous man's ears and punched him in the throat.

There was something quite satisfying in the gurgling sound he made as he took a knee. Oghren was already vaulting off his chair shouting "It's about time." Zevran gut checked the man closest to him. Isabelle thought it was going pretty well until the man directly behind the one she floored jabbed her across the temple. As the room spun, darkened slightly, and her ears rang, the man overwhelmed her and she lost her footing. She was in quiet contemplation thinking about how if she'd been slightly more dulled it wouldn't have hurt so bad when she realized he was on her - his filthy face inches from her cheek saying something about "teaching her a lesson."

Isabelle started re-calculating odds. She tried to call out to Zevran, but the weight of the man on her pushed the air from her chest. She was near blacking out when the man on top of her was suddenly hoisted by Bran and Stephen and upper cutted by Cullen. Bran and Stephen threw him into the skirmishing crowd and joined in the brawl. Cullen reached down and hoisted Isabelle to her feet. She blew a loose curl out of her eye.

"So I should expect this...every time we go out?" Cullen quipped as he clothes-lined a guy running past.

"Pretty much." Isabelle replied as she ducked a slung mug.

He shrugged and grinned. The two turned to the pit and waded into the fight.


	9. Intoxicating Promises

"I don't understand," Isabelle said looking thoughtful, not really talking to anyone, as she turned one of the tables upright, "why every time they start insulting me they always start with calling me a 'whore?'" Her mind was still bubbling with the ale effects, but she'd reached a contemplative moment.

"Sex is a very powerful weapon..." Zevran replied, while setting chairs back around the table, "whether you use it as a verbal or physical one."

"Right, but I never hear them calling you a whore...." she returned to the chair and sat down. She put her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands.

"Well, for me it's the truth and something I'm proud of...." Zevran smirked, "...it would be a poor way to start a fight with me." He walked over and brushed her hair back over her ear "They don't know you, or what you went through, or the specialness that you held on to....just to have it thrown back at you and used against you."

Isabelle grabbed Zevran's hand and held it to her cheek for comfort. "I guess it just makes me an easy target." She blinked a few times and stared up at Zevran, "I knew I should have just jumped in the tent with you instead..." At least she was recovering her sense of humor about the whole thing and she gave Zevran a devious smile.

"Bah, you'd make a terrible whore.....falling in love all over the place....really bad for business." He kissed the top of her head affectionately.

Bran and Stephen finished tossing the last of the riff raffs out of the tavern and dusted off their hands. "Why didn't you use...?" Bran asked while waving his hands in the universal sign language meaning 'magic.'

"Strudel?" Answered a drunk Oghren.

"No, no, he means whipping cream..." Chimed in Zevran. "I too would like to know why she doesn't use whipping cream!" He looked to Isabelle with arms crossed in mock disgust.

"Don't listen to these drunks, Bran, I knew what you meant." She brushed off Zevran who was starting to go into more details about whipping cream. "Its not really right bringing magic to a fist fight..." Isabelle said, while assessing her swollen temple. "To be defeated by magic simply increases the fear of magic. Besides, its much more embarrassing this way. That man and his friends will never admit what fully happened."

Zevran pulled out a pouch and walked over to the innkeeper and started handing him several sovereigns. Isabelle imagined it was becoming something like a tavern bragging right to have this particular fight take place in their establishment. They always paid for whatever damage they did and then some. She imagined little plaques going up around Ferelden saying "Hero of Ferelden Fought Here" ...and here ...and here ...and here.

Cullen was sitting on a bar stool putting ice on his knuckles. Isabelle kept catching him looking at her strangely. Finally he said, "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

Isabelle shrugged. "After a while you just get tired of being hit and you start hitting back. Aside from that, Oghren's an excellent coach in the art of the bar fight." She smiled at Oghren who had retaken his seat with Felsi on his knee, he was still giggling gruffly. "Best thing he ever taught me was don't fight fair, fight dirty - boxing ears, punching throats, thumbs to eyes - all an art form."

"If more mages were like you..." Stephen started the sentence and stopped when he met Isabelle's cool gaze.

"....you'd consider them more human? Maybe treat them like equals or friends?" Isabelle looked toward Stephen, who had started to shift from foot to foot looking ashamed. She felt guilty, walked over, and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You'd be surprised how many mages are like me, if you'd just give them a chance."

Stephen and Bran soon took their exit to catch the ferry back to the tower. Isabelle helped finish cleaning up broken mugs and setting the tavern back in order. Shortly Zevran feigned exhaustion and chased the barmaid up the back stairs of the tavern.

"We should go too." Isabelle said as she placed a kiss almost maternally on the forehead of Oghren. "Stay out of trouble and come to the Tower if you get bored."

He smiled the smile that told her he'd passed the point of coherent speaking. She and Cullen walked out into the night air. The Mabari went behind them.

"...and where were you during all that?" Isabelle playfully scolded the Mabari. He gave her a whimper that meant 'behind the bar getting skritches from Felsi.' "That's what I thought...."

The three stood on the shoreline. The breeze off the lake whipped around them. It was warm and comforting. "Bah, we should have left with Bran and Stephen. We'll be waiting here a while." She sighed. She could just barely see the ferry, it had yet to reach the tower.

"I don't really mind." Cullen said sweetly. He swayed slightly and smiled a happy intoxicated smile. He was still favoring his right hand.

"Let me see your hand." Isabelle said and took his hand into hers, checking for any breaks. His hand was warm. She carefully moved her fingers across the knuckles, back of the hand, wrist, and palm to fingertips. The swelling was minimal across the knuckles. She turned his hand over in hers and she heard him intake a quick breath of air, but she wasn't sure whether it was due to pain or something else. "I don't think its broken. It will probably be worlds better tomorrow...."

"Why did you lie to Stephen?" Cullen said.

Isabelle could feel his breath on her forehead as she examined his hand. She attempted to slow her quickening pulse, but there was no use. She furrowed her eyebrows, "What do you mean?" She tried to sound casual, rather than pressed.

"There is no one like you, Isa..." Cullen's voice became deeper as he whispered the words.

Isabelle looked up. She was unaware how close they would be when she did so. Their lips, mere moment from each other. She could feel his breath on her lips now, like a tiny electrical impulse. He looked from her eyes to her lips and back to her eyes. A small grin appeared on his face and his eyes were soft.

"Isa...I..." Cullen said, and put his uninjured hand on the small of her back and pulled her closer. "I...want to kiss you..." He was feeling very brave and didn't want to let the moment pass.

"Cullen..." Isabelle heard her own voice wavering. For a moment she wanted to close that small yet expansive chasm that separated them. Every part of them that touched in that embrace felt on fire. In the morning she could justify this kiss, she thought. There could be no harm in this small, sweet, simple, beautiful...normal...kiss. But no, no, that little voice in the back of her mind, that she wanted to make shut up....for the love of the Maker just shut up...just wouldn't. Instead of letting go and melting into him, she placed her forehead against his and placed a hand upon his chest pushing him back slightly. "...it's the ale talking..."

"No," He said, quietly and frankly, "I've wanted to kiss you...for a lot longer than tonight...."

"Then tomorrow...tomorrow you can ask me again." She struggled to say the words, still forehead to forehead – willing the magnet that was their lips further apart.

"I may not have the courage tomorrow...." He trailed off and pressed his lips to her sore temple and looked off towards the Tower.

"Then...all the more reason..." She said, as she whispered sincerely into his ear, "I would never...ever have you regret...anything. If tomorrow...or the day after that...or the day after that...you still want to kiss me, I promise, I'll oblige."

"Good..." was all he said, quietly, as the pair turned towards the water and waited for the ferry to return. For anyone else, the moment may have been awkward, but the pair sat down on the dock, shoulder to shoulder, comfortable.

"You know..." Cullen broke the silence, "I always wondered why mages wore robes rather than....normal clothes." He said as he nodded, still a little intoxicated, towards her.

"Huh...." Isabelle thought for a moment while she stared out over the water that was reflecting the stars so perfectly. "I guess it has to do with our connection to the Fade. Unless you specifically train to be a warrior of the Arcane, your spells are substantially harder to cast in heavier clothes and armor." She tucked a lock of escaped hair behind her ear and said very nonchalantly. "The less I wear, the closer I connect to the Fade – I suppose none at all would really be ideal. The material of the robes is designed to be whisper thin.....what?" She noticed that Cullen had stopped breathing.

Cullen just stared at her, mouth a-gap. "You're truly evil...Isa...truly evil"


	10. Dogma

A/N - Thank you for the reviews. I've never written fan fiction, but I had so much fun creating my own happy ending in my mind I wanted to get it on paper. As I flesh out the story some I may flesh out the chapters more - I'll let you know when I do.

For a lot of my information - I get most of it directly from the game or from the DA:O Official Game Guide - a lot of it comes from the Traveler's Guide (Spoiled Princess being Templar Waypoint, Imperial Highway, and most of my kingdom(s) histories) - I wanted to give credit where credit was due so I could remain accurate to the history that Bio Ware has perfectly created to make this game so immersive - I love this game and the character development - I hope I do the after party justice.

* * *

It was late. Isabelle was sitting in the chair of her "new" office. It swiveled!

She pulled her legs up and grabbed the desk and spun, looking around the room.

Isabelle Amell has a pen...

She'd been entertaining herself with this inventory game most of the afternoon and well into the evening.

She spun again.

Isabelle Amell has a pen and a piece of paper...

She'd been pouring over history books and chantry doctrine most of the morning. She was so tired of being blamed for, well, everything...even in those blasted books. There was a long standing history of some pretty rotten mages and demons that she really didn't blame the Chantry for most of the rules they had implemented.

...spin...

Isabelle Amell has a pen, a piece of paper, and an inkwell...

There had to be something else, something she was missing – but the answer still eluded her. She'd taken volumes of notes and all pretty much left her no closer to coming up with the report for Greagior than she had if she'd just stayed drunk at the Spoiled Princess. It was only her first day so she tried to cut herself a little slack.

Another spin...

Isabelle Amell has a pen, a piece of paper, an inkwell, and a waste basket....

Gah! The Spoiled Princess....she'd pretty much drowned herself in research most of the day and hadn't really replayed the previous night until now. She hadn't seen Cullen and figured he'd been sleeping things off. She suspected his memories may be somewhat fogged from the night before and in all likelihood she wouldn't have to oblige him any time soon.

...spin...

Isabelle Amell has a pen, a piece of paper, an inkwell, a waste basket, and a tapestry covered in grapes....

She wasn't really sure if things were going to change or if things were meant to change. That statement held true about both the Circle as well as Cullen.

Another spin...

Isabelle Amell has a pen, a piece of paper, an inkwell, a waste basket, a tapestry covered in grapes, and a guard named Cullen...

"Oh hey Cullen..." She said as the chair finished it's rotation and brought her to a halt facing her desk. She put her forearms on her desk, shifted her shoulders, blew a loose curl from her eyes, and pretended to look professional.

Cullen laughed, "So...they gave you an office?" he said as he looked around the fairly stark room. A thin layer of dust had collected over everything. He tried to remember whose office it had been. He ran through the names of the fallen mages, but still came up blank.

"I know, right?" Isabelle motioned a hand around the room while swiveling the chair like she was giving him a tour. "Isabelle Amell, Official Circle....something-something...." She blew out a frustrated breath. "I don't think they've come up with a title yet...since...well...nobody's ever done this before..."

"I'm sure they'll come up with something fancy sounding, Greagior is good for that. Found anything interesting?" He stood very professionally in front of her. She assumed his guard duty had officially started for the evening as he was in his armor.

"Not really...." She sounded a little disappointed as she flipped through some of the pages on her desk. "Here in the 'Edicts of the Black Divine' Father David of Qarinus goes into a lot of information how magic is treated differently everywhere. The whole 'Magic must serve man, not rule over him' things doesn't hold the same meaning in say Tevinter as it does here. The Chantry there interpreted the rule as meaning mages should never control the minds of other men - however their magic could still benefit the rulers of men as much as possible."

Isabelle sighed, "Short of changing the mind of the entire Chantry in Ferelden, I loathe to think things can change. I really don't think starting my whole report with 'Well in Tevinter they....' I can just see that going over...so...well...I mean it is the whole reason for the schism in the Chantry..."

"They'd just consider it heresy..." Cullen said frankly.

"Exactly....The Revered Mother would have a field day with it..." She thumped her forehead on her desk. "Short of the Maker coming back and telling her magic is not a sin, I'm not sure what I can do..." Her voice sounded muffled as she spoke into the desk.

"I've all the confidence that you'll find what you're looking for..."

"Thmankss..." Her face still on the desk. A frustrated groan crept into her chest. She sat up quickly. "Did you know that most of the Chantry Dogma is based off the teachings of Andraste from the 1st centuries of its existence...we're talking 1195 TE - almost a millennia ago.... In the same year the Chantry was created, the free use of magic is declared illegal in Orlais...except within the Chantry..."

"Riiiight...." Cullen said, trying to avoid getting too deep in the conversation she was baiting. "But faith is a powerful thing."

"...Andraste...it was her faith that brought back the maker. Her husband's jealousy caused him to turn her over to the Imperium. She was burned at the stake....and somehow that is the mages' fault?." Isabelle said as she picked at her thumbnails.

Cullen shook his head, "You're combining your commandments....Andraste's betrayal is what drove the Maker from mankind again. Her betrayal had little to do with the mages, except for the fact that it was the Tevinter Imperium she was turned over to...she now sits at his side where she still urges him to take pity on his children..."

"Even the mages you think?" Isabelle said serenely biting her lower lip.

"Even the mages..." Cullen replied honestly.

Isabelle furrowed her eyebrows in thought, "You have unshakable faith, Cullen. I've always admired that about you."

"Thank you." He said sincerely. "I've always admired your biting wit and analytical mind."

Isabelle shook her head. "By the time I'm done memorizing all of this I may as well run off and join the Chantry Clerics..."

"Hrmph." Cullen said as if actually giving it thought. "We're a terribly boring lot. Besides I think they have a rule against evil mages."

"So I've heard." Isabelle got up from her chair. "I need to leave this stuff for a while, let it sink in. I think my eyes will cross permanently if I look at it much longer."

They walked down the hallway and up a floor towards Isabelle's room. "You were right about one thing last night, Isa."

The sentence caught Isabelle completely off guard. She tripped over the toe of one of her shoes and stumbled. She attempted to regain composure without much luck. Casually she said "Really? What about?" She panicked for a moment thinking here....now...in this hallway?! Bad idea bad idea bad idea.

"My hand does feel worlds better today." He flexed and stretched his gauntleted hand. There was a boyish joy in his heart to watch her squirm a little as they spoke.

"Oh! Yes! Right!" Isabelle responded, trying unsuccessfully not to sound like an idiot. "Well...I'm glad..." The sentence had confirmed one thing. He did remember last night, well at least some of it....great.

Maker, she silently prayed, I hope you know what you're doing....because I sure don't.

"I will see you in the morning, Cullen. I am absolutely exhausted. If you need anything, just knock." She said, and actually managed to sound non-desperate about it.

The door shut and Cullen took his normal position outside. He started praying. He pretty much prayed any available times these days. Actually since the fall of the Tower he'd been praying, but lately the conversations he had with the Maker changed. Before he asked for peace after watching his fellow Templars die - and once the peace came - once she came - he started asking for guidance. Something that would show him that everything that was changing was changing for a reason - that his heart that loved the Maker and loved her, was not wrong.

It was close to dawn when the atmosphere of the Tower changed completely. Thick and dark. The Tower itself almost groaned. A tall, broad figure appeared from the stairwell. He was built like a Templar...he walked like a Templar. Cullen almost hailed him like a Templar when his face came into the light. He was no Templar....

"...Y-You're Majesty..." Cullen croaked trying to make it sound like a statement rather than a question.

"Where is Isabelle?" Alistair said darkly.

"Sleeping....I assume..." Cullen motioned to the door next to him.

"...perfect..." Alistair gave an unreadable grin and slipped inside the door.


	11. Sweet Sweet Anger

_Wake up...._

_What?_

_Isabelle, wake up..._

_No. You're that stupid voice in the back of my head that tells me not to kiss Cullen and won't let me drink myself into oblivion....and I REALLY like oblivion, and Cullen come to think about it....Sleep is not like kissing Templars or drinking...let me sleep._

_Ok...but there is someone in your room._

_What?!_

_(silence)_

Isabelle could feel dawn approaching. The room had that familiar chill that she always associated with those first early hours. The silence of this time of the morning had always been most striking. Absolutely nothing seemed to move or make noise. This was the mystical time where the nocturnal creatures were going to sleep and the diurnal ones had yet to stir. She could just barely see a slight haze of morning light creeping into the windows as she peeked through her lashes. In a chair, next to her bed, she saw a masculine figure sitting with his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his hands.

"...you should have knocked..." she said sleepily as she started to stretch her hands above her head and arch her back in a yawn.

"I didn't think it necessary..." Alistair looked up from his hands. His face still cloaked in the shadow of the morning.

"Alistair?!" Isabelle said as she sat up slowly. She blinked her eyes several times and tried to push this vision away from her. It couldn't be real. This can't be real.

"You were expecting someone else?" He said coldly.

"No...not really..." Isabelle said as she rubbed her eyes again – hoping, no, praying this was still some waking dream. "but, I certainly wasn't expecting you."

She sat up on the side of the bed, opposite where he sat, her back to him. She reached for her candle on her bedside table and with a snap of her fingers lit the wick. She walked around the room and lit several candles. She turned to face him and found him staring at her, gazing at her slowly from head to foot. The expression on his face was enough to make her blush. She had a simple white cotton sleeping gown on and with the glow of the candle light behind her, she realized it was not giving her much modesty. She reach for a robe and pulled it on hastily.

"How did you get here...so quickly..." She said as she tied the belt, intentionally tight, around her waist. She thought back to the report Wynne had written a few days ago. "It is easily a day and a half walk from Denerim here...unless...."

"Unless you leave as soon as the messenger hands you a report and ride a very fast horse without stopping to camp..." he said in almost a whisper...his face very dark. The circles under his eyes testament the fact that he hadn't slept. He rose from the chair and closed the distance between them.

Isabelle hesitated and tried to take a step back but Alistair put a thumb in the belt of her robe around her waist. He tried to pull her closer but she placed a hand on his chest. "Why are you here?" She demanded in a harsh whisper. Her mind flew with different thoughts and emotions, curiosity was the one she grabbed onto first.

"I...I miss you..." Alistair grabbed her chin gently and forced her eyes to meet his. His breath was ragged.

Desire was the next emotion Isabelle felt as he started to close the gap between their lips, but it was fleeting. Landsmeet replayed on a loop through her mind. The sight of his back, turning away from her and her friends after he told her he could not be with her. She saw it...over...and over. She closed her eyes and forced herself to not cry – sadness was not what she needed right now – she threw away that emotion and she searched and she searched...there had to be something else there...

Anger....sweet sweet anger....was the next emotion she grabbed and she held on for dear life.

"Miss me!?" She jerked her head out of his hand and flipped his other hand out away from the tie around her waist. She pushed him back and turned away. "Of course you MISS ME! I am fantastic! It was YOUR CHOICE to walk away, not mine." Strength flooded into her.

"You could have stayed." Alistair's voice became hard.

"And what?! You could keep me all to yourself. A dirty little secret that you'd sneak away to in the middle of the night?!" Isabelle was pacing now, her eyes locked, low, and furious at Alistair.

"Lots of Kings keep lovers..." his voice was thick and dark, his eyes kept her stare.

"You're insane....insane." She said as she pointed to the side of her temple and flicked her wrist at him, "You'd keep me on the side, while I watched your life unfold? When ultimately you'd find a Queen and create an heir, all the while slipping out of her bed to slip into mine!" She folded defiant arms across her chest, "I am already dying one slow death, how could you expect me to endure two?"

"We would have had each other..." he said grimly as he ran an unsure hand through his hair.

"That isn't exactly what I'd call 'each other'..." If she could have spit on him, she probably would have but her throat had gone unnaturally dry. "And what if...what if I wasn't the failure of a baby-maker you've made me out to be – what if I'd bore you a child – the illegitimate son of a bastard king. What then?"

Alistair's face slackened for a moment before growing hard again, "Just come back to Denerim...we can discuss it more there..."

"No." Isabelle's voice was sure and firm. She knew that going back to Denerim would make her weak and eventually she would be his dirty little secret. "I belong here. I have a place here."

"What?!" Alistair voice took a more hateful turn. "This Tower?! This place breeds..."

"Ignorance and prejudice?" Isabelle scowled, suddenly consumed by the desire to defend the Tower that was now ebbing strength through its stones into her feet. "The same things that you were unable to overcome as King?"

"What of the Grey Wardens?" He let the question hang in the air. He was searching for something...anything to make her agree to come with him.

"If there is another Blight or Darkspawn uprising, I will be there, fighting at your side with the other Grey Wardens." She continued pacing "If they need me to help rebuild, then...then I will consider doing more – but right now I am a speck of dust in the grand scheme of Grey Wardens."

Alistair's voice became indigent. He took a step towards her and pointed an angry finger at her, his frustration was almost palpable. "Do you know when you left Denerim I almost called for your phylactery!"

"...and what?! You would have had me hunted....like an apostate?!" Isabelle's voice became shrill.

"You're no better than an apostate!" The words were purposefully hurtful as Alistair sneered at her.

"At least I'm not the one who bedded the apostate..." Isabelle said very low, and equally, intentionally, hurtful.

Alistair's face fell. "...but you!"

"That night had very little to do with me." Isabelle's voice steady, "I told you the truth. I could not go to sleep that night knowing I'd kept any alternative from you. You knew the consequences...I told you the consequences...you made that decision....not me."

"I did, yes, and I don't regret it...much....but, I couldn't watch you die, and I knew you wouldn't let me die" Alistair said.

"I did die that day, Alistair!" Sweet anger still poured from Isabelle's lips. "You! You caused my emotional death, but you somehow would feel guilty of my physical death?!"

Alistair turned towards her, angry, "You abandoned your King! You abandoned your duties!"

"My duties to what?! Warm your bed?!" Isabelle's confusion lay apparent on her face.

"Well it is something you're particularly good at...after all, you ran off with Zevran..." Alistair shook his hands in anger at the side of his head. "Why Zevran, Isabelle?? Why not go with Leliana on her pilgrimage?"

_Seriously? We're back to the whole whore thing?_

"I wasn't feeling particularly holy...and do NOT bring Zevran into this." She squared her shoulders towards him. "He's done more for me than YOU ever could." Sex was indeed a powerful weapon – she let him assume what he wanted – the statement, regardless of she and Zevran's lack of sexual relations, was completely true.

For a moment she thought she'd gone too far. For a moment she thought he was going to slap her. Instead he closed his open hand and took a deep breath.

"I need you." He said softly, raising his eyes to meet Isabelle's.

"YOU! DON'T! DESERVE! ME!" Isabelle punctuated every word with her fists at her side. "Short of ordering me to Denerim I'm NEVER coming back."

"Fine." He said harshly, "I ORDER you to come back to Denerim."

Isabelle felt her stomach lunge towards her throat. "W-w-what?" She said in a whisper.

"You heard me. Once in Denerim, once I can get you alone – away from this Tower, I know...I know you'll see things my way." His face was very serious. He grabbed one of her wrists and attempted to pull her towards him.

"You selfish pri..." She let the obscenity die on her lips, "...you can't..." Isabelle felt lost and alone. "You can't do that...can you?"

"No. He can't." The voice boomed from her doorway. Knight-Commander Greagior was standing a few paces inside. Zevran was to his right, leaning casually up against the open door with death in his eyes. Oghren was to Greagior's left his fingers twitching, itching for a fight. Wynne was right behind Greagior and Cullen behind Wynne.

"What?!" Both Isabelle and Alistair said as they turned in unison to the door.

"He can't, and Alistair knows he can't." Greagior continued. "Isabelle is protected under the Circle of Magi and the Tower. She is here for Official Circle Business. Short of getting either myself or Wynne to release her to your noble order – which..." He looked back over his shoulder to Wynne who was shaking her head no, eyes low on Alistair. "...clearly isn't going to happen today...I'm afraid you'll have to petition the Revered Mother herself, and you know how easy she is to get through to..."

Alistair slumped his shoulders, defeated. He turned to Isabelle, dropping her wrist. "This isn't over."

"Get out." Isabelle said low and slow, pointing towards the door.

"Oghren, is it?" Greagior said towards the dwarf, "Would you and Cullen care to escort his Majesty to the docks?"

"It would be my pleasure." Oghren said gruffly.

Alistair walked towards the doorway, he looked down at Zevran. "So, just like that?"

"Just...like...that..." Zevran said, matching gazes with Alistair, continuing to lean casually on the door.

Isabelle walked over and sat on the end of her bed. Alistair walked out with Oghren and the Knight-Commander behind him. Isabelle looked towards the door as Greagior was closing it she mouthed the words 'thank you,' he mouthed the word 'twerp' and shut the door.

Zevran crossed the floor towards her and stood in front of where she sat. He gently pulled her head to his chest and held her close, running soothing fingers through her hair. "I'm done mourning." She said softly into his arms that held her close. She wrapped her fingers around his arms and held on.

"Good..." He sighed softly, "Because he doesn't deserve that either..."

Isabelle pulled back from his embrace and looked up quizzically. "How did you know to come here?"

He cupped his hands around her face and stroked her cheeks gently with his thumbs. "I got a very early wake up call from a ferryman – apparently asked to fetch us by Ser Templar."

"Cullen sent for you?" Isabelle asked.

Zevran nodded, "He'd already roused Wynne and Greagior by the time we made it across."

"Huh." She said and buried her face in Zevran's arms again.

"That's what I said." His voice trailed off.

**

"You know, even for a King you're a jerk." Oghren said while walking Alistair down the long curving hallway towards the entrance.

Alistair huffed.

"You've got some nerve. You fought off a blight together, saving each others lives on countless occasions..." Oghren continued on, lengthening his stride to keep up with Alistair. "...and this? This is how you treat her? How you re-pay her? Ordering her...to your bedchamber?"

Alistair clenched his teeth tightly and stared straight ahead.

"She deserves more..." Cullen said sternly. "You really hurt her."

Alistair stopped. He slowly turned towards Cullen. "Kevin...Carter...no no Cullen...that's right...the Templar trapped in the Tower. The one who spouted off his boyhood infatuations about Isabelle. Ah, yes, I thought I recognized you."

Cullen stood up strait and matched the King's glare. Stature wise, they were very similar.

"Do not talk to me about hurt or what she deserves." Alistair said very low and very deliberately, "I have an entire kingdom to think about...and what do you have to think about? Hmm?"

Cullen's eyes dropped and looked from side to side.

Alistair took a step back, turned and started walking towards the exit. "That's what I thought..."


	12. Amnesty

It was mid-morning. The sky was a blissful clear blue. The sun shown brightly into the room through the little windows. Birds were singing and if you listened really carefully you could almost hear the water lapping on the shoreline at the base of the Tower. Isabelle sat in her large overstuffed chair. She had her knees up and was absentmindedly running her fingers through Zevran's hair who was sitting on the floor in front of her and leaning against the chair. The two had been re-living the resolved conflict for a while, rolling what the morning had brought before them over in their minds.

"I've never seen him like...that..." Isabelle continued to analyze the situation.

"Desperate words of a desperate man." Zevran said coolly, he pulled a knee up and rested his forearm on it.

"...but "Kings keep lovers" was his idea of words that would get me to come back?" Isabelle's eyebrows continued to knit in thought. "Not once did he speak of love, which is probably a good thing..."

"I have no doubt that he thinks he loves you..." Zevran shrugged, "but, he's had months to pine for you and wonder where you were." Zevran looked up towards Isabelle, "He's also had months to imagine what we were doing so I'm sure there was a lot of anger and jealousy mixed in with his desperation. The pent up emotions had to come out somehow, and you weren't exactly receptive to him being here."

Isabelle let her head fall back and looked up towards the ceiling. "I feel like I've been in the worst bar fight of my life...."

"You were throwing some pretty heavy verbal punches." Zevran pulled her hand down from his hair and held it gently running his fingers across the back of it as if examining it for injury. "I'm surprised your knuckles aren't bruised..."

"Heh....me too." Isabelle had a moment of pride. "You know, I'd thought about what I would do if I ever saw him again. None of them ended like this....most of them ended with me naked."

"Well who am I to stop you?" Zevran smirked wickedly.

Isabelle smacked the top of his head before going back to running her fingertips along his scalp. "You know what I mean...." She sighed thoughtfully. "If he'd found me earlier, months ago, I'm not sure I would have been able to deny him. There was a time I would have been content to be his dirty little secret."

"You've grown much, Bella. You deserve your strength and you deserve happiness." He cocked his head up contemplating "Now that you've found your strength, it's time to find your happiness."

"Right now, I am happy. I have the finest friends and a direction. Sobriety is not so scary any more." Isabelle smiled warmly.

There was a small knock at the door.

"Come in." Isabelle replied to the knock.

Cullen poked his head around the door. "I hope I'm not disturbing you, Isa. Can we talk?"

"Oh hey Cullen, sure." She tapped the top of Zevran's head. He rose from his spot and walked towards the door to take his exit.

Zevran stopped in front of Cullen and looked him square in the eyes. He said very low to keep Isabelle from hearing him, "You, Ser Templar, are no king. Hurt her and I will kill you and no one will miss you."

"I know." Said Cullen.

The honesty in his voice took Zevran by surprise. He nodded. "Good." He left, pulling the wood door behind him.

Cullen stood in Isabelle's room. He was no longer wearing the armor of his guard duty, but instead was in simple brown trousers and a white shirt. He shifted nervously and blew out a frustrated breath.

"Cullen, thank you. Thank you for this morning." Isabelle looked up from her chair. "I don't know what would have happened if....if you hadn't gotten Greagior." For a moment she pictured Alistair leading her out of the Tower by the wrist in the dawn light. It hadn't even occurred to her that her position as Official Circle Something-Something would convey any sort of former lover amnesty.

Cullen nodded. He was staring at the floor, no, through the floor. His eyes were wide and unblinking. He ran his hand through his copper curls which seemed to snap him out of his trance. He blinked and looked up to Isabelle. "Its my job." He said softly. "To protect...you."

"I thought you'd be sleeping by now." Isabelle said with honest concern. "You have to be exhausted."

"Knight-Commander Greagior pulled me into his office. I've been there most of the morning." He crossed a few feet closer to Isabelle's chair, stopping short. He hesitated and again blew out that same frustrated breath.

"Are you alright?" Isabelle shifted her weight in her chair, placing her feet on the ground, and looked towards him as if noting his strange demeanor for the first time.

Cullen closed the last few feet between he and Isabelle and took a knee in front of her chair. He gathered up her hands into his own. "I...I still...." He searched for the words in her eyes. "I still want to kiss you."

"What? A-are you sure?" Isabelle's heart started pounding in the back of her throat. She tried to swallow it back down but her mouth had gone extremely dry.

Cullen nodded. "I have to know..."

_Kiss him._

_What?!_

_I tell you what you've wanted to hear for...years...and now you question me? Just kiss him before he realizes you're talking to yourself._

Isabelle moved her hands from Cullen's grasp to either side of his face. She studied his eyes for a moment looking for any sort of doubt, any sort of second guess. She found none. She scooted closer to the edge of her chair and crossed the expansive space between their lips, closing her eyes as they touched. When they pressed together she first noticed their warmth then their softness. Blood rushed and pounded the drum beat of her heart in her ears. He deepened the kiss, timidly at first and then like they'd kissed a million times over. She melted...melted...right into that kiss...and off the chair. There, knee to knee, almost in some sort of sensual prayer, he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close. She was grateful to be held because part of her was convinced if he hadn't she would have melted into a puddle of emotions. As the kiss continued, one hand stayed on the small of her back, the other moved up to the back of her head and wove his fingers into her lovely auburn curls. She allowed her arms to sling up around his shoulders and her fingertips ran gently over his neck and upper back.

Isabelle was unsure how long the kissed lasted. Seconds...minutes...hours...it didn't really seem to matter. When the kiss ended a tiny moan of disappointment crept through her chest.

"That's what I thought..." Cullen said breathlessly, eyes still shut. He opened his eyes and smiled sweetly at Isabelle. He gently caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. "I have to go..." He whispered.

Isabelle moved her hand over his hand caressing her cheek and laid sweet kisses to his palm. "I'll see you tonight." She sighed.

"No." He said softly. "I have to leave the Tower."

"What?" Isabelle said sharply, coming out of the spell he'd cast over her. "They're sending you...away?" A worried groan escaped her lips. "I'm sorry Cullen. Maybe I could speak with Greagior...I should be the one who has to go...not you..."

"No, no, Isa." Cullen pulled her close and kissed her temple. "There is something I have to do."

Cullen rose to take his leave. Isabelle grabbed his hand and looked at him, her face full of questioning doubt.

"Have faith, Isa." He leaned down and kissed the back of her hand. "I'll be back."

_Faith_

Cullen dropped her hand and she watched him walk out the door. Isabelle had no anger or sadness – she was, however, still slightly numb. She let the kiss replay in her mind. She'd kissed and been kissed before, but something was quite different about that kiss...that amazing, sweet, perfect...normal...kiss. She was still kneeling on the floor when Zevran returned to the room.

"Did he hurt you?!" Zevran said, almost angry – reaching for his daggers reflexively.

"Nope." Isabelle said, staring at nothing.

"Did he kiss you?" Zevran hung the question out there.

"Yep." She said, still staring.

"I'll see if Wynne has some wine..." he sighed.


	13. Antivan Wine and Women

"It's Antivan!" Zevran practically squealed as he came back into Isabelle's room clinking the three wine glasses against the bottle he was holding. "Oh Bella, you're in for such a treat!"

Isabelle had managed to move from the floor back to her overstuffed chair. She looked up to Zevran's smiling face and then from the wine bottle to the glasses. Her eyebrows furrowed, "...three?" She managed to say just before Wynne entered the room.

"Three." Wynne said affirmatively. "You're not the first mage ever kissed by a Templar you know..."

Isabelle scowled hatefully at Zevran.

"What?" He shrugged innocently, "It came up in conversation..."

"How exactly does that come up in conversation?!" Isabelle huffed and crossed her arms. In her best fake Antivan accent "Hey Wynne, do you have any wine?... Oh, why you ask?...Cullen kissed Bella..." Isabelle's face relaxed and she uncrossed her arms. "Oh, never mind, I guess it comes up in conversation pretty easily...just pour."

Deftly, the rogue placed the three glasses on a small round table against the wall. With the skill of an artist he twisted the corkscrew and removed the cork. He poured three perfect glasses of a golden liquid that reflected the sunlight which gave the appearance of tiny stars in the brew. With a small bow he served Wynne first and then handed a second glass to Isabelle. He took his own and brought it to his nose and savored the aroma. He raised his glass. "Here is to the wine and here is to the women and here is to the gloriousness of having BOTH in the same room." He tipped his glass and took a deep gentle sip.

Isabelle raised an eyebrow at the elf. She'd never drank anything that wasn't served in some sort of mug or tankard or drunk directly from the jug. She took her own glass and raised it to her lips. It was thicker than she expected, it tasted similar to honey but a slightly thinner consistency. She detected a hint of strawberries somewhere in it and perhaps an orange. It clung to her tongue like a passionate kiss and gingerly slid down her throat. Upon reaching her stomach it sent a warmth that emanated from her core to her fingers and toes. If alcohol could be akin to lovers, the ale she'd had before this was like the shameless lover taking you in a dirty ally with only his satisfaction in mind, but this wine was like the passionate and patient lover who left no nook or cranny neglected encouraging you to find your own pleasure before satisfying his.

"Amazing..." was all Isabelle could think to say to describe it. She took another swallow. "Wynne, I thought you said there wasn't alcohol in the Tower?"

"Correction, I said there wasn't much ale in the Tower. Wine, there is a plenty..." Wynne closed her eyes and relished in the next sip.

"Only in Antiva." Zevran mused, mostly to himself, "Only in Antiva could they make a wine that made me want to drink slowly and really take my time."

"Are you alright, Isabelle?" Wynne asked with genuine concern.

"I think so..." Isabelle said somewhat distractedly, "I must say it has been the strangest day. It started off really bad, then really good, and then back to bad, and now kind of good. I just wish the day would hurry up and decide already which one it is going to be..."

"Well what fun would that be." Wynne chided gently. "Part of me is grateful Cullen left. These things can get so scandalous. The last thing you need is whispers in the hallway....again. You've got a job to do here and you need the full faith of the mages and the Templars."

"I swear I'm going to kick the next person who says faith today." Isabelle threw her head back in frustration in the chair.

"...Faith?" Zevran chimed it, pouring himself another glass.

"Shut up." Isabelle scowled.

Zevran shrugged, smirked, and refilled Isabelle's glass as well staying just out of reach of a poorly placed kick. "You really should learn to stop kicking people."

"I don't know, Wynne, I guess...no, I know you're right. I'm just floundering. The day has been such a mind screw." Isabelle put a frustrated palm to her forehead. "I really thought I was figuring it out, and now I'm just not so sure."

"For starters, Isabelle. Nothing has to be figured out today." Wynne took another long sip of wine. "You have the Circle's protection, so for now you do not have to worry about Alistair, so you can take your time in your duties....starting tomorrow...of course."

"Tomorrow..." Isabelle repeated. The second glass was starting to make her mind bubble. She looked at the glass and looked at Zevran. "Why did you never tell me about this?"

"It would be like tantalizingly long kisses that lead nowhere." He said, taking a slouching seat against a wall and resting his forearm on one of his knees. "It would have been criminal to tease you with Antivan wine when all we had was swill..."

"Fair point." Isabelle nodded towards her glass before she finished it off.

"I'm going to send down for a tray of food from the kitchen." Wynne looked woefully at Isabelle. "We can prolong oblivion for a few hours...." Wynne headed towards the door. "Please try not to be unconscious before I get back."

Zevran was already refilling his glass and Isabelle's as Wynne left. "Do you think....do you think Wynne ever kissed a Templar, Zev?" Isabelle questioned towards the door that Wynne had shut.

Zevran looked up from his duty of pouring the wine matching Isabelle's stare with his eyes smiling and the tiniest of grins on his face. "Bella, I have a feeling she's quite familiar with the ways of the Templar....and I don't mean their religion."

****

Several hours later Isabelle woke up in what was becoming her favorite chair. Her head was still swimming from the wine. The room was dark, but there was enough of a moon outside to give the room a ghostly glow. The remnants of the evening were spilled around the room: an empty food tray, several empty bottles of wine, Wynne's tipped over glass. She vaguely remembered Wynne taking her leave after the second...or was it third bottle of wine? Soft snores exposed Zevran passed out in her comfortable bed spooning with the Mabari who had snuck up behind the kitchen staff who had brought the food.

Isabelle got up and staggered. She wasn't sure whether she was going to vomit or not, but she knew she had to get out of that room - staying in that room would certainly lead to wretching. Everything felt stagnant and hot. She opened the door to the room. A new Templar had been posted, Bran. She must have surprised him because he startled. Isabelle almost fell out of the room but caught herself on the door frame. She looked at Bran through one eye, because two eyes were giving her two Brans.

"W-w-warden." Bran stammered the greeting.

"Isabelle." She said, in a drunken nod. "Call me...Isabelle."

"Isabelle...are you going to be sick?" Bran said, with a little panicked look to his face.

She nodded yes, unwilling or unable to explain 'maybe.' "Do you...have...to follow me?"

Bran nodded grimly.

Isabelle returned the grim nod and started feeling her way down the hallway. She silently thanked the inventor of walls for without them she would have had to crawl down the hallway. She winded her way down flights of stairs and more curved hallways. Did everything have to have a curve and a tilt? Bran dutifully followed her wondering to himself if Cullen had to endure this nightly and if this is why he left the tower.

She passed the chapel. She stopped in the doorway. The room itself always had a yellow hue about it, almost like it produced its own light. Isabelle made her way into the room, swaying.

"Uh...Warden...er...Isabelle, you can't vomit in here." Bran said following in behind her.

I'm not going to vomit in here, you idiot, was what she wanted to say. All she could muster was "Shoosh."

Isabelle made her way down the center isle holding her arms out and bumping her hand along the ends of the pews. She'd knelt in these same pews until she was old enough to blame her studies for keeping her away.

To the right was where crazy-mage always prayed. For the life of her she couldn't remember her name so crazy-mage would have to do. She would talk to Isabelle about praying for the Maker to take away her magic. She prayed for the Maker to take away her 'curse.' Isabelle always hated that term, but certainly could relate. Isabelle sometimes pitied her and sometimes wanted to kneel down beside her and add her own prayers. Crazy-mage.

To the left was where Jowen had pulled her aside to confess his love for the cleric Lily. She could close her eyes and see him standing their love-struck, staring at Lily, willing to risk it all. Isabelle's stomach lurched and she almost did vomit there in the chapel thinking about the way Jowen had used his own blood to defend Lilly, and then to watch her turn in disgust from him. It shattered him. At the moment she couldn't decide which pained her more, that he'd been a blood mage or the look of his heart being ripped out of his chest when Lily was unable to accept him as a blood mage.

As she approached the dais, she felt compelled to kneel on the soft little cushioned kneeling bar there....so she did. Bran frantically looked around the room for something to clean up vomit as she started to lean over. Luckily, instead of baptizing the alter with partially digested dinner, she brought her hands up and clasped them in front of her and closed her eyes.

""Maker..." Isabelle started hesitantly and then it became a curse. "Maker! Bran help me..." Bran had started to cross the floor to grab her when she held up a hand to stop him, she still had her eyes shut but scrunched them up in annoyance. "NO, Bran, help me pray. I can't remember the first passage of the Chant of Light."

Bran stammered, "Ah...I..." - he moved back a few paces and took a more guard like position. He looked up to the ceiling and tried to recount the Chant. He started and Isabelle joined in unison.

_There was no word_

_For heaven or for earth, for sea or sky_

_All that existed was silence._

_Then the voice of the Maker rang out,_

_The first Word,_

_And his word became all that might be:_

_Dream and Idea, hope and fear,_

_Endless possibilites._

When the prayer ended, Isabelle held there for a moment in a small quiet contemplation. It didn't exactly feel right, but at least it was a start. Silently she prayed for peace, peace within herself. Next she prayed for guidance. At this point, it couldn't hurt, and she really needed all the help she could get. "Thank you, Bran." Isabelle said as she started to rise, but her knees buckled slightly. "Ok...now I am going to throw up."

****

Bran had managed to pull Isabelle outside the front doors of the Tower before she created a mess through the hallway. She wandered off a few feet into some dense bushes and fell to her knees. He found it amusing that when she wretched she looked almost exactly like she did when she had been praying in the chapel....she also called to the Maker several times in prayer and in curse.

"Maker!" Isabelle said, sort of, as she emptied her stomach contents yet another time. It was more like "Meeraaker!" She was pleasantly surprised that the Antivan wine was significantly more agreeable on the way back out that any of the previous times her stomach had not been able to hold down what she'd assaulted her senses with. She quietly wished Zevran was there to hold her hair because the careful balance between holding her hair and not falling on her face was certainly no easy task. She hesitated momentarily and blinked tears, brought on by the intentional effort of wretching, out of her eyes. She thought for a moment of promising to never drink again but lying didn't really seem appropriate.

Isabelle rose to her feet. The ground was cool against the bareness there in. The stars hung low in the sky tonight. She crossed her arms in an attempt to protect herself against the coolness of the night. She looked up to count the stars. Endless possibilities.


	14. Something Something

It seemed like it had been raining for weeks, mostly because it had been. Every year, almost to signify the end of the summer, a storm would form over Lake Calehad and just stay there, gathering moisture and energy before it finally moved off over the land. The storm was always the same, miserable gray drizzle until the clouds were heavy enough to pour and then it would leave. The gray drizzle seemed endless by now.

The atmosphere inside the Tower was thick. There had been no sunshine since the storm started. You could almost cut the humidity with a knife. Isabelle felt the mood of the storm was appropriate and mirrored her own. She didn't so much mind the storm, the only thing she really hated was the frizzy mess it turned her hair into. After attempting to tame it with the eight (hundredth) pin she'd placed in it, Zevran had finally set her down with a bottle of Orleasian oil and tied her hair back in a tight bun at the base of her neck. The same loose curl was still in her eye, but she suspected he left it there so he could watch her blow it out of her eye or tuck it behind her ear.

Zevran hadn't left her side for longer than a few hours (to go nuzzle a barmaid) since the 'Alistair incident' as it was now being called. It was nice to have him nearby because he broke up the monotony of the day fairly regularly and she appreciated it. Much to the chagrin of Bran, he refused his own room. Isabelle speculated that part of the reason he stayed with her was because he hoped that Alistair would find his way back into her room and he could blame mistaking him for an intruder for shoving a dagger in his ribcage...twenty-seven times.

Isabelle was in her office busily writing her report for Greagior.

**To judge all mages by the actions or in-actions of others is at its root unwarranted. There are some givens about mage: we are all human or elf, man or woman. After that, it is up to the individual mage. There is nothing more about our coming to being that would make us evil or good than any other person.**

**The way mages are brought to the Circle, however, certainly can predispose some mages to follow a darker path. There are children here who have nightmares regularly about being ripped from the bosom of their mothers. Some of their families, so distraught by the magic tendencies of their children, have locked them in cellars for days. All of these scenarios end the same way: the Templars come and take them away.**

**That being said, an unguided mage is a danger to themselves. If Conner of Redcliff is any representation we can see that his connection to the Fade and ignorance of his power allowed the demon to take over his mind. The Circle of Magi is one of the most important organizations in Ferelden, but as an institution of learning.**

She was tapping her pen in thought as Zevran sauntered into the room. As normal, he had a devious little grin on his face, a permanent accessory. "Bella, I think you work too hard sometimes..."

Isabelle looked up to the blonde elf and smiled an exasperated smile. "You're probably right, but I really need to start getting some of this on paper so I can turn something into Greagior." She leaned back in her chair and stretched toward the ceiling. "Wynne is so excited about all of this, I really hope I don't disappoint her."

"I don't think that is possible." He said as he plopped down into a chair facing her. He glanced over her desk noting many wadded up pieces of paper, detailing the frustration of her work. He also noted several unopened letters. "Who are those from?" Zevran said as he pointed towards them.

"Oh," Isabelle said, fairly casually looking back down to her work. "Alistair. I haven't opened them and I really don't think I'm going to." From the corner of her eye she noticed Zevran's eyes light up and his fingers twitch slightly. "...would...you...like to open them?"

He gave an evil laugh and scooped them up off the table, opening the oldest one first. Isabelle watched as his eyes gleamed and danced back and forth across the pages. "This one is apologizing....blah blah blah...says he was rash...blah blah blah...still wants you to come to Denerim....oh and he's an idiot."

"He admitted to being an idiot?" Isabelle laughed to herself.

"No, no, he's calling me an idiot and wrote that he knows I'm reading this...he misspelled several obscenities." Zevran chuckled and put the letter back in its envelope and opened the next letter.

Isabelle went back to writing while he read the next letter.

**My first recommendation would be to educate the families of the young mages. The guidance of this Circle is a reward for children with affinity for magic, not a punishment. An alternative to splitting up families should be researched, whether it be through regular visits to the Circle, or leave given the mages.**

"Oh Bella." Zevran said, peering up over the next letter. "This one talks about the things you used to do to each other in camp." He folded the letter down and gazed over Isabelle slowly. "...and here I had been thinking you more the innocent type."

The thought-filled grin on his face made Isabelle turn crimson, she tucked the rogue curl back over her ear which just made his grin wider. "Well it wouldn't be the first time you'd been wrong about me...I would have thought you used to it by now..." She tried to recover but refused to look up from her writing.

"It also goes on again to call me an idiot. Again he misspells some obscenities. He writes like he talks..." Zevran turned the letter towards Isabelle and pointed to a paragraph. "I think this part here was actually something he said to someone who came into his room." He shook his head and raised his eyebrows in disbelief as he put the letter back into its envelope.

**My second recommendation would be to learn from other Circles across the kingdoms as well as from the Dalish and Chasind shamans who did not grow up in a Circle. The shamans learn through a long apprenticeship of tradition and history. They are revered, not feared, for their magic. In the future, even setting up an exchange program of sort would be mutually beneficial between the kingdoms.**

"Huh." Zevran said as his eyebrows furrowed through the next letter.

The concern Isabelle could hear in his voice was enough to make her look up from her writing. "Huh what?"

"Well, this one says he is going to create a Mage Advisory position within Denerim.....It goes on to say he will be going to speak with the Revered Mother." Zevran's eyes darkened as he read. "It just reiterates that he knows that you will 'come to your senses' once you're back in Denerim....blah blah blah...Zevran's an idiot....blah blah blah..." He crumpled up the letter and threw it on the desk. "I'm really starting to hate him."

Isabelle leaned back and tapped her pen to her teeth. "Well, no point in worrying about it now..." She shook her head and shrugged slightly. She knew that pretty much none of this was in her control. She had not given up hope, though, quite the opposite. Isabelle had been working very hard to change her mantra to 'everything happens for a reason.' It was actually much less stressful than the 'screw you world, you're completely unfair' mantra she had been using.

"We could start moving again." Zevran said very matter-of-fact. He pulled his elbows up on the arms of the chair and tapped his fingers together in thought.

"What's the point?" Isabelle said and spun around in her chair. She stared up towards the ceiling and sighed. "He'd have a reason to pull my phylactery then. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life hunted like a common criminal." She stopped the rotation of her chair and pulled together the few pieces of paper she did have. "I'll bring these to Greagior and tell him about the letters...well the last letter, not the camp letter...and he already knows you're an idiot so I'll leave that part out."

Zevran laughed lightly, but by the way his eyes gleamed Isabelle could tell he was reliving whatever details were in the second letter.

****

Isabelle sat once more in the hard wooden chair opposite Greagior's seat. He was again not there, and the room was still too cold. She had thought they'd be past this whole power play thing, but apparently they weren't. Unconsciously she started chewing on her thumbnail and shifting in the seat.

"Warden." Bellowed Knight-Commander Greagior as he walked in the room and a single Templar took post by the door. Isabelle stood up out of respect. "Please sit." He said as he reached his chair and sat down himself. Déjà vu. Isabelle shivered reflexively while sitting and shook off the odd feeling.

"I brought you the first part of my report. It is still in its infancy, but I wanted you to see where I was going with it." Isabelle said as Greagior started sifting through the pages she set before him. She watched him read for a bit and wondered how she was going to bring up the letter from Alistair.

"Huh." He said while reading. It seemed to be the word of choice today. Isabelle imagined him for a second wadding it up and throwing it into the waste bin, barking insults about it being trash, and to start again. She'd run dramatically crying from the room while he yelled about her worthlessness. In her mind she had even started breaking things in her office when he said, "That's it!"

She blinked. "What?"

Greagior stood up and started pacing behind his chair with his arms clasped behind his back. "It wouldn't hurt to have someone gather information from the other Circles. Official Circle Ambassador. That ought to do it." Isabelle wasn't even sure he was talking to her anymore. "So his Majesty wants to go above my head and speak with the Revered Mother, does he? Well this should quell that storm." Almost on cue the rain outside picked up and thunder rolled in from the distance.

How did he know about the Revered Mother? Isabelle thought to herself. It must be that Alistair was further along than she anticipated. She cursed herself for not opening those stupid letters earlier. Greagior continued to pace, deep in thought. She started chewing her thumbnail again.

"As soon as the storm passes, you'll leave the Tower." He stopped pacing and faced her, he placed his hands on the back of his chair and looked at her. "I'll write up something official and you can start touring the kingdoms. Speak to them about sharing knowledge and traditions amongst the Circles. Orlais will be easiest, as its the seat of the Chantry and we have reasonably well established communications with them. Start there." He tapped his fingers on the chair and looked off. "They may also be willing to send some mages to help train the children here."

"You want me...to leave?" Isabelle said nervously. She'd been working hard, but part of her was hanging on to the notion that Cullen was coming back here....eventually.

"Yes. I think getting more information from the other Circles is imperative for Wynne and any help we can get from Orlais would be appreciated too." Greagior nodded to himself. "To be honest, I feel like most of what you've written so far is dribble, albeit reasonable dribble, but it is at least a work in progress - and something you can work on while you tour."

Isabelle sat for a moment and let the shock of what was transpiring wane. When she promised Wynne she would help the Circle in any way that she could, it was a promise she intended to keep. This also solved her little Alistair problem, at least for a while. It could be quite time consuming to tour all of the kingdoms' Circles. Maybe she could even add on a trip to the Dalish encampments and Orzammar for good measure.

****

Isabelle had taken a much less dramatic exit from Greagior's room than she had first imagined. He had patted her on the shoulder, she had thanked him. She was a little disappointed to not be running to her office to start breaking things. Instead she decided it best just to head to her room to sleep. She needed to pack and needed to tell Zevran what had happened. She approached her room and noted that Bran was not on duty yet. As the rain had gotten heavier and the sky darker she'd lost her ability to judge the time well.

Her room greeted her graciously. With the heavy rain the muggy nature of the drizzle had passed. It had a fresh feel to it and she found it comforting. The rain fell hard against the open window and a puddle was starting to form in the floor. She lit candles as she passed to go close the shutters. As the shutters clinked closed she heard the door behind her open.

"Zev." Isabelle said over her shoulder, "We'll be leaving the Tower once the storm has passed." She turned around, eyes still on the floor as she started looking for a towel to clean up the water. "It seems..." She stopped mid-sentence as she looked up to see who had come into her room. The copper curls revealed her guest to not be Zevran.


	15. Stormy Knights

The rain continued to pour outside. Big fat summer raindrops slapped against the shutters and the stone walls. The thunder rolled across the lake. There he was, standing in her room. Cullen was well kept for a traveling man. His face was clean shaven and his clothes looked laundered. Isabelle had gone over this scenario in her mind since he left. In most of her fantasies she would say something witty or charming and throw herself into his arms. Now being faced with it she searched her mind for her most witty or charming comment.

"Hey." Isabelle winced at her charm. She couldn't be blamed entirely for her fleeting wit. The room had gotten particularly warm and she was fairly sure her heart was trying to suffocate her by taking up permanent residence in the back of her throat. She tried to swallow it back down.

"Hey." was Cullen's retort. At least she wasn't the only one lacking in wit and charm today.

Isabelle took a deep breath. Trying to alleviate the awkwardness of staring at each other across the room she walked around and found the towel she needed to clean up the puddle the rain had created and laid it down over it. "Where have you been?" Still no wit, and it was starting to bug her.

Cullen started walking slowly looking around the room similar to how a patron would tour a museum, hands behind his back, admiring artwork. "Denerim."

"I hear the king there is a real ass." Score! Wit! Isabelle did a tiny victory dance in her head. She may have done one there in the room too.

"So I hear." A little glimmer of a smile graced his face. "Isa, I'm sorry I left the way I did." Cullen had stopped his tour and faced her. Isabelle had decided that after running out of puddles to clean up, a seat in her favorite chair was in order. She sat down and tucked her feet underneath her to the side.

"Why did you leave the way you did?" Isabelle replayed the awesome unfairness that accompanied a fantastic kiss and then a hasty unexplained exit.

"The truth is, after Alistair left I went to see Greagior. I confessed to him my feelings for you and that I didn't think I could spend another minute not expressing those feelings. I told him I didn't feel wrong, that I had been praying for guidance and nothing in my prayers had told me I was wrong." Cullen started pacing this time, his voice somewhat shaky. "I didn't think I'd be able to adhere to my vows, and rather than make you.." he hesitated and looked down to the floor "..my dirty little secret...I asked to be released from my vows as a Templar."

"...Cullen...I..." Isabelle started speaking but Cullen held up a hand asking her to wait.

"Greagior told me I wasn't the first Templar to ever feel that way and after going back and forth about it, he told me to make sure. That was when I came to your room and told you I still wanted to kiss you." Cullen crossed the space between them and took the same knee in front of her and gathered her hands in his. Déjà vu all over again. "I knew then I wouldn't be able to never do it again. It wouldn't have been fair to you for me to stay and us pretend like nothing was changing. I didn't want to hide, actually. I was overcome by the desire to scream out my affections from the top of someplace very high...So Greagior sent me to Denerim and told me to pray."

"Why Denerim?" Isabelle asked, meeting Cullen's eyes.

"I think he thought the Revered Mother could talk some sense into me, and that maybe being away from you would make a difference...So, I went and there I prayed - and still nothing changed. That little voice inside my head still told me to love you and still loved the Maker." Cullen shook his head in disbelief. "I prayed hourly, daily, weekly. A few days ago, as I prayed, I heard some clerics talking about the King looking for audience with the Revered Mother. I knew I had to make a decision, that something had to change. I went before the Revered Mother and I told her that if she prayed to the same Maker that I prayed to, she would see no fault in my feelings either....and she didn't...I didn't reveal who you were, but it shouldn't matter. I told her that I still wanted to serve the Maker so she has given me a lay-brother position and relieved me of my Templar duties."

"Cullen...are you sure?" Isabelle was panicking. She'd wanted to hear this for so long but she would never have asked him to do it.

"Isa, I've never been more sure." He said as he gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. "I had to tell Knight-Commander that Alistair was indeed going to go above his head...I left Denerim as quickly as I could, but not before I got this." Cullen reached into the front pocket of his shirt and pulled out a small red vial and placed it in Isabelle's hand.

Closer inspection revealed the inscription 'Isabelle Amell' and the year she'd been brought to the Circle. Isabelle's eyes widened and brimmed with tears as the realization of what she was holding in her hands settled in. "How did you....why did you?"

"It is still my duty to protect you, even from jealous kings." Cullen said in all seriousness. "I made a few fake vials, and using my status as Circle Templar, I went to the phylactery room and switched them out. I also took Wynne's..." He gave a little laugh "It just seemed appropriate after all she's done for the Circle."

"What did you replace the blood with?" Isabelle asked mostly out of curiosity. She was transfixed with the almost iridescent glow of her phylactery.

"Raspberry jam." Cullen laughed lightly. "I had thrown some in my pack as I was getting ready to leave the Tower. Turns out the Circle makes a fine jam. It seemed appropriate."

Isabelle looked at the man before her, a man ready to risk it all with raspberry jam and give up his kingdom for her. "How did Greagior take it?"

"Surprisingly well, actually." Cullen said pulling one of her hands to his lips kissing it gently. "He was disappointed to lose a good Templar of course, but...he called me brave. I told him that I would serve the Chantry and the Circle in any way possible. He pulled me aside shortly before I came in here and assigned me to guard the new Official Circle Ambassador - which I hope is you, otherwise this whole thing could get awkward... He said something else about not wanting to let all that Templar training go to waste."

Isabelle's eyebrow's furrowed in thought. She gingerly placed the hand he'd been kissing on the side of his face and rubbed her thumb over his cheek. Very seriously and very carefully she asked, "Will it be enough? ...Being a lay-brother? ....Being with me?"

Cullen laughed. "Isa, I can carry the words of the Maker with me anywhere. I can still perform the Templar duty of guarding the world from you....I'll still strike you down if you become an abomination."

"Striking down is good. I don't think I'd much care to be an abomination anyway..." She looked from Cullen to the phylactery and back to Cullen. "Huh." Still the word of the day.

"What do you think you'll do with it?" Cullen said curiously, moving his hand to hold hers which was still on his cheek. He laid kisses into the palm of her hand.

"I don't know..." Isabelle said. Smashing it on the ground seemed really anti-climatic. Gently and regrettably pulling her hand from his sweet kisses, she got up from her chair and walked towards the table where Zevran had sat her down to tame her curls. She dug through a pile of ribbons and ties and pulled out a long string and wound it around the phylactery. She went back and retook her seat. Reaching out, she tied the string around Cullen's neck and tucked her phylactery under his shirt. "There. Now the only ex-Templar I want finding me still can..."

Cullen caught her arms as they came from around his neck and considered the eyes of Isabelle Amell. He had a decided he needed to resolve the problem of the distance between their lips...so he did. She melted...again...into the kiss and off of the chair. He kindly put his arms around her waist.

Isabelle was enjoying thoughts about haylofts when a creeping doubt ebbed into her mind. She tried to push it back and lock it behind heavy doors, but it continued to seep in. Conflicted, she broke the kiss. A small tormented moan escaped Cullen's lips as he opened his eyes. Without thinking she blurted out, "I may be a failure of a baby-maker!"

Cullen tipped his forehead against hers and placed a hand behind her neck and smiled. "Then let us make our own legacy. If it ends with us, so be it. The bards will sing songs of our journey for centuries."

Isabelle closed the gap between their lips again. She traced small kisses along his jaw line and then to his neck. "Orleasian oils." She said as she lifted her head and looked at Cullen. "You smell like Orleasian oils..."

Cullen smiled, "I would have seen you earlier today but I ran into Zevran. He said that I was not allowed to come see you until I took a bath and shaved." Isabelle ran a hand over his smooth chin. He shifted a little uncomfortably, "It was a little unusual, he even tried insisting on helping - it was all I could do to get him out of the room."

Isabelle smiled. "He was just looking out for my best interests. I'm glad you kicked him out." She leaned over and gently assaulted his earlobes which elicited a pleasant response. She whispered "Now what?"

"Well," Cullen nuzzled her neck and kissed the nape. "I could show you some of the things the desire demon taunted me with...."

"Fantasy farm girl, eh?" Isabelle leaned back and gave him a deviously quizzical look, "Am I going to need overalls for this?"


	16. Raspberries and Faith

As Isabelle slid further under the covers and into her lover's embrace, she relished in the perfections of her back against his chest. Cullen's arms pooled around her in affection, his rhythmic breathing against the back of her neck. She would not be fooled, however, into thinking him sleeping again. She'd tiptoed around the edge of the Fade attempting to find her own slumber countless times tonight just to be pulled back with sweet kisses tracing the line from between her shoulder blades to her ear to hear whispered "I have a lot of missed time to make up for...." Indeed he did and she'd happily obliged.

Isabelle traced lazy circles into his forearm with her fingertips and felt a pang of guilt sitting in the middle of her sternum. Zevran had been sharing her room and she worried where he'd sleep. The rain made it impossible for him to get passage to the Spoiled Princess. Almost as if he knew she was thinking about him, he slunk into the room. She may not have even known the assassin had come in if she hadn't been looking at the door when it opened.

"Hey Zev." She said as he silently moved next to her side of the bed.

"...and?" Zevran whispered leaning over, eyebrows raised expecting an answer to a question she already knew.

"Like Antivan wine." Isabelle grinned wickedly.

"Good. You deserve Antivan wine." He returned her grin and brushed the rogue curl behind her ear. "Now will you tell him to move along, he's on my side of the bed."

"There is a fine overstuffed chair over there..." Isabelle said and she pulled up the blankets around her. "Consider it payback for spooning the Mabari."

"Bah. The Mabari makes a better little spoon anyway." He said, still whispering as he grabbed a spare blanket and headed towards the chair. "Your feet are always cold." He settled in and pulled the blanket over him. "Will we be leaving tomorrow?"

"Probably not," Isabelle whispered, eyes shut, as she started tiptoeing towards the edge of the Fade again. "The storm still has another day before it passes..."

Cullen pulled Isabelle close, kissing the back of her neck, "...and I don't plan on leaving this room until it does...get out Zev....er...please?"

"Would you go to sleep already?" Isabelle scowled, elbowing him in the ribs. "I'll be no good to anyone tomorrow if I don't sleep."

"I don't think he's looking for you to be good, Bella..." Zevran chimed in from the chair.

"Scoundrels, both of you..." Isabelle trailed off, pulling the covers up around her chin and digging her face further into the comfortable pillow.

Cullen nodded into her hair. "So...I'm like Antivan wine?" He said with sleep finally on the edge of his voice.

"Yep." She replied, lengthening her stride towards the Fade.

"With or without the vomiting at the end?" he said teasingly.

Isabelle silently cursed Bran as she finally found her slumber.

****

The storm had moved off towards the east and the blue skies and crisper weather of autumn was finally settling in. Greagior sat in his office and watched the silent scene unfolding outside his window. Isabelle and Cullen threw a few belongings into the ferry. The Mabari at the bow in his figurehead position and the Antivan on constant alert, looking out over the lake. He thought back to a time where, had he been a braver man, his exit could have been a similar scene. Greagior had already said his formal goodbyes to them this morning and was back in his office hard at work. He picked up his pen and went back to writing the letter at hand.

_**Your Majesty,**_

_**I regret to inform you that the Official Circle Ambassador, under the blessings of the Revered Mother, has left this morning with her Antivan friend and lay-brother Cullen.**_

His irritation with the king still hadn't waned. Greagior wondered if it would be tasteless to underline lay-brother three times and put several exclamation points at the end. He decided it would be, so he left them out.

_**I would be happy to offer you my assistance in picking out a new mage adviser for your Advisory position in Denerim.**_

He tapped his pen and tried to remember crazy-mage's name. He made a little note to ask Wynne later.

_**I hope you enjoy the case of raspberry jam I've enclosed. It was a good year for raspberries here at the tower and the Circle always makes the best jam.**_

_**Ever in Service,**_

_**Knight-Commander Greagior**_

Greagior grinned at the idea of giving the king raspberries and really credited Cullen with the genius behind it. He looked up from his writing and found Wynne standing before his desk. "Good morning Wynne. I'm glad you're here, there are some things I wanted to discuss."

"Good morning Greagior. I had something I wanted to discuss with you too." Wynne said, clutching behind her back a tiny vial with a long string attached to it.

****

Everything happens for a reason, Isabelle said to herself, practicing the new mantra. So far in all of this happening, Isabelle had found no fault. It was certainly a long road to get here, here to this moment, but she'd do it all again. She hesitated to think what would have happened if she'd never betrayed Jowan, if she'd never been conscripted by Duncan, if she'd run Zevran through instead of waking him up. She looked up to Zevran who was cursing in Antivan about getting away from young beautiful mages of the Circle. A small group of admiring lovely young women had gathered to watch him leave.

Isabelle finished throwing the last of their belongings in the ferry. She walked over to Zevran who was now looking out over the lake. She threw her arms around him and hugged him and kissed him sweetly. He returned the gesture. He pulled back from her and looked at her thoughtfully, "What was that for?"

"Everything, Zev, everything." Isabelle smiled at him.

"Bah, I haven't even shown you everything, you keep running off with ex-Templars." He pushed the rogue curl behind her ear and smiled at her.

"I love you, Zev." Isabelle grinned while turning away to go crawl into the floor of the boat.

"I love you too, Bella." Zevran smiled and smacked her on the hindquarters as she turned away. Her little squeal of pain bringing his smirk wider. Zevran caught Cullen looking at him. "I said if you hurt her I'd kill you - I meant and still mean her heart - her hindquarters are completely fair game...."

"Good to know." Cullen said, smiling roguishly, getting into the boat behind Isabelle.

Isabelle sat on the floor of the ferryboat. Cullen sat behind her arms draped over her shoulders and resting his chin on her head. She had her eyes open and looked out over the bow at her endless possibilities. She quietly ignored Zevran's ranting about how they owed him some time with his barmaid at the Spoiled Princess. Isabelle just smiled.

She took another moment and still pondered happenings and reasons. What if she hadn't made Alistair king or told him about the ritual? What if she hadn't gotten smashed at the Spoiled Princess and kicked a Templar in the shin? All of the hardships and heartbreak suddenly made sense. She looked back at the Tower looming behind them. Never did she think it would seem warm and inviting, but today it looked like home. Part of her was really going to miss it.

As the ferry pulled to the docks, Zevran jumped out and hurried to the Spoiled Princess, the Mabari prancing along behind him. Cullen offered Isabelle an arm out of the boat which she gratefully accepted.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

"Endless possibilities." She said smiling.

****

Over the next few years mages trickled into the tower handpicked by Isabelle from across kingdoms. Greagior received several reports each time they did. There was one note that stood out above all others and he tucked it away in his desk and read it often. It said:

_**Her name is Faith and she is beautiful. ~Cullen**_

When he first read it Greagior sat back in his chair in his too cold office. He practically swelled with grandfather-like pride. Faith. He repeated inside his head. The daughter of a Grey Warden Mage and powerful Templar. She'll either be completely normal, or grow up to one day to battle an Old God.

-------

A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who has been reading. My work needs to be reviewed, fleshed out, edited, all that fun stuff, so I may back up for a bit and work on that. I've given myself several avenues of where to write from here, so hopefully this won't be the end.


	17. Only the Beginning

"I come to face you, demon!" She yelled into the open. The snow and wind whipped around her face, the few loose curls dancing around her. The sinewy ginger haired woman crested up over the ledge of the mountain onto a clearing, the maw of a cave spread out before her. The invitation here, one she created, fated as it were. She shrugged her shoulders, shifting the weight of the dwarven ax on her back. Her shield, her father's shield - adorned in the crest of the templar, she strapped tight to her forearm. Taking a knee as she adjusted her armor, everything in place, she awaited her response.

A rough deep laugh erupted from the cave mouth. "Come then, little warrior, I await my defeat. Tell me though, who is it who comes?"

The thin grin across her visage concealed by the thick wool scarf. Tugging loose her ax, she stood. With the deftness of the rogue, the stance of a warrior, and the confidence of a templar, she strode forth into the cave. Her body lit with magic with a murmur from her lips. "I am Faith."

A/N Wrapping this up nicely to start more. Much love to you, my faithful and new readers. I love every single review and read every one even in my extended absence.


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